Amelia's Violin
by Sache8
Summary: Version 2.0 A story about love, music, and Season Six of Stargate. JonasOC. COMPLETE!
1. The Tea Drinker

**TITLE**- Amelia's Violin

**AUTHOR** - Sache8

**RATING** - PG – Kissing, Light swearing

**GENRE** - Romance/ Adventure/ Mystery

**SUMMARY** - Set during Season Six. Senator Kinsey uses his influence to get his daughter special aide at the SGC. She and Jonas strike up an unlikely friendship. Meanwhile, Jonas works to solve the mysteries of a strange but fascinating planet, for which the SGC has high hopes.

**DISCLAIMER** - Ain't mine (eloquent, yes? I thought so G)

* * *

_Not marble, nor the gilded monuments  
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme;  
But you shall shine more bright in these contents  
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.  
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,  
And broils root out the work of masonry,  
Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn  
The living record of your memory.  
'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity  
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room  
Even in the eyes of all posterity  
That wear this world out to the ending doom._

_So, till the judgment that yourself arise,  
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes._

Sonnet 55 by William Shakespeare

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE** - _The Tea Drinker_

Colonel Jack O'Neill had once remarked that Jonas Quinn was the last person on Earth who needed to become a coffee drinker. The effect, he said, would be somewhat akin to dumping gasoline on an open flame. It was fortunate, therefore, for Colonel O'Neill's sake that Jonas had never really taken to coffee. He actually preferred tea, and drank copious amounts of it. Granted, it was still caffeine, but the milder potency of tea didn't seem to cause the poor Colonel the same level of alarm.

Reflecting on all of this, Jonas studied the Colonel from across the briefing table and decided that he could probably use a good cup of either beverage. A large yawn escaped the older man's lips, and his eyes were staring blankly at Major Carter. She was going through a slideshow of data from PX3-651, for which SG-1 and SG-8 would be departing in just under six hours. Jonas himself was on his second mug of tea, had been awake since 0500 that morning, and showed no signs of yawning.

"Data provided by the MALP shows atmospheric and barometric readings similar to that of PXY-887, which is why we're so interested in this planet."

"Yes, who can forget good ol' 887?" Colonel O'Neill said, propping his chin on his hand and giving Sam a plaintive expression. "I have such fond memories of that place, right Carter?"

"Actually, sir… no, you don't."

"I don't?"

She opened her mouth, presumably to elaborate, but Jonas beat her to it. "Tonane's planet," he said helpfully. "Where you first discovered trinium, right?" Jonas paid little attention to the surprised faces that turned to stare at him. By this time, he was accustomed to it.

As was Sam. She hardly blinked at him before replying affirmatively. "That's right," she said, nodding. "Which explains, Colonel, why you have no fond memories of it. If you remember, you never actually _went_ there."

"No, but I got a lovely trinium-tipped souvenir through my arm for my trouble. So I take it we're hoping that this new planet might have trinium, too?"

"That's correct. As you know, we've managed to find deposits of trinium on various other planets, but most of these we've used up on the Prometheus project. We've yet to find any planet with the quantities that we encountered on 887."

"Which are, of course, inaccessible to us, as the native people seemed to have buried their gate upon returning," added Major Lorne from further down the table, where he was skimming a report. He did not look up from the report, so he missed the very brief and almost unnoticeable glance that passed between Sam, Jack, and Teal'c at these words. But Jonas noticed. Obviously there was something more to the story of 887 than was on file in mission reports, but Jonas doubted he'd ever be told about it.

Instead he raised a couple of questioning fingers at Sam. "Pardon my ignorance, here, Major—" he began.

"Yes, what is it, Jonas?"

"Obviously, SG-8 is being brought into this mission for their experience working with trinium and other various resources we've encountered offworld, but… why SG-1?"

"PX3-651 is considerably near to heavily occupied Goa'uld territory," Teal'c pointed out.

"Teal'c is right. We're coming along as an extra means of precaution." Sam turned to General Hammond and gave a small nod. "That's all I've got, General."

"Thank you, Major. People, you've got the information you need. You have a go for 1300 hours," said Hammond. There was a noise of many scraping chairs and shuffling papers as the two assembled teams began to rise to their feet. Jonas was out of the room faster than anyone. There was little that excited him more than the prospect of a new offworld mission, particularly since he'd been stuck on base for the past two weeks due to Colonel O'Neill's knee giving him trouble again. He had some work he wanted to have cleared up before they headed out.

The hours until 1300 seemed to drag, but finally the two SG teams found themselves on the other side of the gate surveying yet another new world. Colonel O'Neill first ordered them all to start heading down the hill together, but Sam requested staying behind. "I want to set up some equipment, sir," she explained. "The gravity here is a lot heavier than most planets with stargates. It'd be a good chance to study these kinds of conditions."

Colonel O'Neill did not seem exactly thrilled with this, but acquiesced easily enough. "Fine. Jonas, you stay with Carter. If we meet up with any unexpected guests, I want you to dial home immediately and get reinforcements. No heroics, understand?" He looked over his shoulder slightly, as if expecting a battalion of Jaffa to come suddenly springing over the hill.

"Yes, sir," Sam said quickly. She seemed too pleased about having gotten her way to argue.

Jonas tried to hide his own disappointment at being denied the opportunity to explore. Maybe when Sam was finished with her equipment, he could suggest it. Instead, he breathed deep the fresh air with relish, and watched the others' progress down the hill for a while. The Stargate on this planet was perched at the apex of a fair-sized hill, affording a good view of the surrounding area. It was also extremely windy. If Jonas was reading the terrain correctly, the surrounding mountain ranges seemed to be turning this hilly valley into something of a giant wind tunnel.

He watched his companions until they reached the bottom of the hill, then turned his attention to the Stargate. On missions such as this, with relatively peaceful surroundings and nothing to translate, he had taken to noting any new Stargate symbols that hadn't been encountered before. It was a practice he'd picked up from reading Doctor Jackson's journals. On this gate he found two new symbols, not counting the one that was point of origin, and was carefully sketched the shapes into his notebook. Perhaps if a more permanent outpost were set up on this planet, he'd be allowed to come back sometime and try to find constellations to match the symbols in the night sky.

He worked in silence, lost in thought, before helping Sam with her monitoring equipment, which was meant to take continuous readings of the atmosphere after their mission here was done. It was almost an hour later before he turned once more to the landscape falling out below them. "How far of a sweep do they have to do?" he asked.

At his question, Sam looked up from where she'd been fiddling with some instrument or other from her pack. "Sorry, what?" she asked.

Jonas waved his hand towards the horizon where Colonel O'Neill and the others had disappeared. "How far will they conduct searches before knowing whether or not we'll find the trinium we're hoping to?" he clarified.

Sam also studied the horizon for a moment. "That's a tough call," she finally said. "As with any other mineral, there could be great concentrations of it, but only in isolated or scarce regions." She sighed. "And this is a big planet."

"Didn't Tonane's people acquire their trinium near a riverbed?" Jonas asked. He turned his gaze slightly north, shielding his eyes from the bright sunshine.

"That's right," Sam said, nodding. "It came down from deposits in the mountains." She gave a meaningful glance at the high peaks in the distance all around them. "Of course, they had a little bit of help from their 'spirits', but—"

"We're still hoping that the presence of mountains _here_ increases the chances of our finding large trinium deposits," Jonas concluded.

"Exactly."

There was a crackle from the radio in his pocket. "Jonas?" came the sound of Colonel O'Neill's voice.

Jonas leaned over to his shoulder and clicked his radio. "I read you, Colonel," he said.

"Looks like you're up to bat, after all. We found something that seems to fall in your department."

Jonas exchanged glances with Sam. "Some kind of writing, I presume?" he asked.

"Righto, and a great big stone… something or other to go with it. Carter, you'd probably better come, too."

It was Sam's turn to go for her radio. "Sir?" she asked.

"Well, you've got all the gizmos to measure this stuff. I'm sending Stewart and Ryans back to cover the gate."

"Yes, sir."

"Head due northwest from the Stargate, I'd estimate about… two klicks," Colonel O'Neill added. "O'Neill out."

Giving Sam an eager expression, Jonas stuffed his notebook and pen into his bag before swinging it up onto his shoulders. Once Sam was situated, the two of them headed down the hill toward the tree clusters below, following the path Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c, and SG-8 had taken. When they finally reached their teammates, Major Lorne and the rest of SG-8 were setting up the some of their special equipment. They were all standing beside a tall stone edifice in the middle of a clearing.

"Colonel!" Jonas called, at which point Colonel O'Neill looked up and nodded, waving them over. "This is impressive," Jonas said excitedly when they reached the pillar. He craned is neck back to see the top of the structure, which was several meters above their heads.

"And incredibly well-preserved," Sam noted, running her hand along the smooth stone. "Probably indicates that someone is taking care of it. Otherwise the wildlife would have overgrown it by now."

"Actually, I'm not so sure about that, Major Carter," said Doctor Weythe, stepping up beside them. Henry Weythe had been with SG-8 for over a year now. He had degrees in both geology and botany, and was a major asset to that team's area of expertise.

"What do you mean, Doctor?" Sam asked curiously.

He shrugged, "I could be wrong, of course, but I don't see any of the usual signs of sentient life forms anywhere in this clearing, at least not recently." He pointed at the ground. "This underbrush is incredibly built up. You've got the usual signs of animal activity, but if there were someone taking care of this structure, there would probably be a path of some kind."

"I believe Doctor Weythe is correct," said Teal'c from where he and Colonel O'Neill were standing a few feet away. "It would not appear that humans or any similar life forms have been here for some time."

Jonas nodded thoughtfully. "Which means," he pointed out, "no Goa'uld, either, right? That's good news, at least."

"Well, it's nothing more than vague speculation," added Doctor Weythe. He gave a wry, somewhat amused smile. "It'd be really stupid to make any sort of conclusion at this point."

"We haven't seen any signs of Goa'uld activity at all since we've been here," Colonel O'Neill said.

"This gate address is from the Abydos cartouche, isn't it?" asked Jonas, puzzled.

"Many of the Abydonian addresses have been abandoned by the Goa'uld," said Teal'c.

"Yeah, but usually they've left a big mess of some kind behind," pointed out the Colonel. "And this close to the System Lords' territory? There's probably a _reason_ they're not here, and none of the reasons I can think of leave me feeling very warm and tingly."

Sam pursed her lips and studied the edifice again. "Perhaps the answer is in this structure," she said. "It's obviously some kind of old alien architecture. If Doctor Weythe's theory is correct, and no one's been here for a while, it's quite possible that there's some mechanism or technology somewhere inside it to help keep it preserved." She tapped the stone once more with a finger, looking thoughtful.

"Colonel, you said you found writing," Jonas added. "Where?"

"I thought you'd never ask," said Colonel O'Neill smugly, waving a hand and jerking his head. "Come on, other side."

They followed him around to the opposite side of the column. It was instantly clear what had the Colonel had been referring to. Before them was what seemed to be a control panel of some kind, with strange keys and buttons, and chiseled in deep letters in the stone above the control panel was writing that Jonas instantly recognized as Ancient.

"Interesting," Sam murmured, leaning forward to run her fingers over the array of small, burnished keys. They were the perfect size and indentation for human fingers.

Jonas stepped up beside her. From this angle, he could see that each metallic key was engraved with a symbol in a thin, blocky script. He looked up and brushed the stone-imbedded script above their heads with his fingertips. "This is obviously Ancient writing, but there's a lot of it I don't recognize."

"Did you bring Daniel's crayons?"

Jonas turned around to give the Colonel a quizzical expression. "Sorry?"

The older man tucked his gun under one arm to free his hands and made a motion like he was drawing something in midair. "Daniel used to make rubbings of that kind of stuff with his crayons," he clarified, nodding and pointing at the inscription that Jonas's hand was still resting on. "I forget what they were really called. Some fancy archeo-babble word, no doubt." He waved his hand dismissively. "Why he didn't just take a picture, I'll never know."

"He _did_ take pictures, sir," said Sam with a knowing smile. She was still studying the inlays on the alien control panel and did not turn around.

"Then what was with the coloring?"

"Daniel Jackson believed this secondary means of recording data provided tactile clues which a photograph alone could not capture," Teal'c said.

The Colonel turned to Teal'c with an incredulous expression. "And you know this _how_?"

"I asked Daniel Jackson this very question when we were attempting to decipher the writings on the time device from P4X-639."

"Oh. Well, where was I then?"

"I believe you were attempting to convince General Hammond to let all SGC personnel participate in a game of 'Fortune's Circle' in the gate room."

"It's _Wheel of Fortune_, Teal'c. And I still say the Stargate would make a damn fine wheel. Carter could have been Vanna; it would have been great!"

For once, it seemed Jonas wasn't the only person present who was out of the loop. Sam paused in her examination of the artifact to turn back and gaze at her teammates with an odd mixture if incredulity, suspicion, and amusement on her face. "What?" asked the Colonel, looking suddenly innocent.

Sam studied him for a moment, eyebrows raised, before she shook her head disbelievingly and turned back to the work at hand. "You know, sometimes I don't _even_ want to know," she muttered to Jonas.

Jonas laughed and pulled out his camera. He _would_ need good, clear pictures of all these writings to take back to the SGC, and probably some of the symbols on the control keys, as well. He made a mental note to ask Sam at some point just what a crayon was, anyway.

SG-1's and SG-8's debriefing of General Hammond some time later was an odd mixture of disappointment, satisfaction, and optimism. "Unfortunately," Major Lorne said after they'd all been settled for about fifteen minutes, "preliminary tests show no satisfactory traces of trinium in the soil. However, I believe it would be foolhardy to abandon the possibility just yet. I'd like to do some more extensive testing, General. Maybe even a resonance scan."

"I'll take that under advisement, but remember, the Goa'uld are practically at our back door on this one. We want to be extra cautious in how we proceed."

"Actually, sir," said Sam, "I'm of the firm opinion that this Ancient structure we found has something to do with why the Goa'uld have left this world virtually untouched."

"And I think you'd agree we'd all _really_ like to know what that is, General," Colonel O'Neill pointed out.

Hammond nodded. "Absolutely."

"I'd suggest looking for further structures or signs of the Ancients' presence on the planet," Jonas said. "They may provide us with a more complete picture."

"Sir, I'd recommend sending a UAV to scout the surrounding area," said Sam thoughtfully. "It could look for Jonas's Ancient structures, and if nothing else, gather some valuable geological information for Major Lorne."

"Sounds like a good investment of a UAV to me. I'll see that it gets done first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, sir. I think that's about it for us."

"Very well. You're dismissed from the debriefing, but before you go, there's something I need to advise you of, and I might as well say it now while I have so many of you here."

Jonas cocked his head and looked at the General curiously. There seemed to be the barest hint of annoyed reluctance in his tone. Jonas got the idea Colonel O'Neill sensed it, as well. "What's up?" the Colonel asked.

Hammond gave him a considering gaze and let out a small sigh before he proceeded. "We're expecting a guest on base some time in the next few days," he finally said. "She'll be spending most of her time with Doctor Frasier, I imagine, but you're all to be advised of her presence here."

Sam frowned. "Tok'ra?"

"No, she's from Earth, actually. A civilian. Amelia Kinsey."

Jonas was familiar with the Earth expression 'you could have heard a pin drop,' but he'd never really been able to apply it to a situation before now. "I'm sorry," said Colonel O'Neill after a moment, "could you repeat that, General? Those field rations have never really agreed with me. I could've sworn you just said _Kinsey_."

"I did, Colonel. Senator Kinsey's youngest daughter, I understand. She'll be taking advantage of our medical facilities."

Colonel O'Neill opened his mouth to comment, but Hammond was swift to cut him off. "The _reason_ I'm telling you this," he said, his gaze sweeping all the personnel present, "is that while Miss Kinsey will be briefed on the bare bones of the Stargate program for convenience purposes, she will not be authorized to know our most sensitive details. If you should encounter her, please take that under advisement. Dismissed."

No doubt General Hammond was aware when he made for his office that SG-1 would be right on his heels. Indeed, even as the four of them filed into the room, he was already facing them from his desk, clearly geared for verbal battle.

Colonel O'Neill wasted no time. "General, are you _nuts_!" he exclaimed.

Sam, as usual, was more forbearing. "Sir, you can't just drop that on us and not expect us to want a better explanation," she pointed out.

"I thought you'd feel that way, Major," Hammond said, nodding slowly.

"Well?" the Colonel asked after a moment of Hammond's hesitation.

Hammond sighed again. "As you know, Senator Kinsey is given full disclosure of all mission reports that come out of this mountain, including any potential threats, new allies, or useful technologies we encounter on these missions."

"Yes, which he loves hanging over my head," Colonel O'Neill said.

"Not long after your return from Pangar, Senator Kinsey approached the President with a personal request."

"Oh, here we go. Something to do with the Tretonin, no doubt?" The disgust in the Colonel's voice was unmistakable.

"That's right. His daughter has recently been diagnosed with an extremely critical and life-threatening case of cancer. He's requested that she be treated with Tretonin."

"And we're _agreeing_ to this?"

At this, the General suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable, more so than he had before. "In exchange for this favor, Kinsey has agreed to make a very generous contribution to the SGC finances."

"Oh, for crying out loud! I can't believe the president is in favor of this."

"It's a _very_ generous contribution, Colonel. Which will free up parts of the budget for other uses next year."

"I'll bet Kinsey used that argument, too, didn't he? Nice way to place a value on his own daughter. Frankly, I'm surprised he's even suggested this."

"Why's that, sir?" asked Sam.

"What, he's not playing the 'terminally ill daughter' card? Just think of all the sympathy votes. And by the way, General, did anyone bother explaining to Kinsey that the Tretonin doesn't work?"

"Actually, sir, the Tok'ra have adapted and perfected the Pangarans' process," said Sam. At the Colonel's returning glare she shrugged apologetically. "With a steady treatment, Miss Kinsey should be able to make a full recovery."

Colonel O'Neill stared at her for a moment before turning back to Hammond. "General, I'm requesting a full schedule of offworld assignments for SG-1 over the next few weeks. I'd like to avoid having to be near our _guest_."

"Colonel, don't you think it's a little unfair to judge Miss Kinsey without having met her?" Jonas pointed out.

The Colonel gave him one of those humoring expressions that Jonas was becoming quite accustomed to. "She's a _Kinsey_, Jonas. I know you've never actually met the man, so I'll cut you a little break. But you really ought to know better."

Jonas looked at Sam and Teal'c. Sam only shrugged again, and Teal'c returned his attention to General Hammond. "I agree with some of each of what O'Neill and Jonas Quinn have said. It is likely that Senator Kinsey's daughter is no threat to us, but we must not underestimate the means by which Senator Kinsey may try to strengthen his influence over Stargate matters. I believe she will require close monitoring."

"_Thank_ you," said the Colonel, waving his hand appreciatively at the Jaffa. He looked back at Hammond. "What he said."

"Miss Kinsey will be treated with the usual standards of security we assign to _all_ of our guests, which, as you know, are extremely high," General Hammond said. "And I see no reason why she should interfere too greatly in any of our lives here, least of all yours, Colonel."

"If only Kinseys didn't have an annoying knack for making my life more difficult, I might be able to agree with you, sir."

Needless to say, Colonel O'Neill wasn't in the best of moods for the rest of the day. Jonas, however, had a great deal of work with which to occupy his mind, and soon the arrival of Senator Kinsey's daughter was, for all intents and purposes, forgotten.

* * *

Malcolm Barrett sometimes wished he wasn't so close to his work. Some people used physical exercise as a means to relieve stress, or so he'd heard. A look of irony flitted across his face at that thought. He pushed his headphones up on his head. The truth was, he sometimes expected that if he wasn't forced to _make_ time to exercise for this kind of thing, he'd probably never get it done. 

Swinging his arms a couple times to finish his warm-ups, he used the motion to look around, casually checking for any unwanted observers. He was particularly jumpy today. One of his agents had been long overdue in updating, and he'd begun to worry that she had been compromised, but finally, this morning, a report had arrived through the usual channels. Now it was finally time to find out what was in it.

Barrett pressed the play button on his walkman, then pretended to adjust the volume while secretly triggering the device's _second_ play button, one which accessed the digital files he'd loaded into it an hour before. As soon as he was finished he would more than happily revert to the Rhapsody in Blue, but, as always, work came first.

"Good morning, sir," came Rachel's pragmatic but upbeat voice. "I hope you have a good run, and that you catch a lot of crooks today." Barrett suppressed a smile and shook his head a little. Rachel's sunny nature—very uncharacteristic for an agent of _any_ kind of government organization, particularly this sort, was precisely the reason he'd chosen her for this assignment, bypassing a handful of other candidates that an onlooker might have thought more appropriate.

"Things have been pretty quiet around here lately," she continued. "But you know how it is. Things are starting to heat up for the primaries. The Senator hasn't been around that much."

It was a perfectly rational explanation of why she hadn't been reporting, but he was going to have to remind her—whenever he could—that the 'no news is good news' mantra didn't fly over very well for covert undercover agents. "Yesterday, though, he finally came back, ordered me to make his coffee like I was a nincompoop, as always, but we got lucky, sir. I finally got something on the wiretap that might take us somewhere. I think it'll catch your interest. Other than that, not much to report, but it's plenty enough. Well, you'll see for yourself. This is June Cleaver the Senator's secretary, signing off."

Barrett smiled again mid-stride. Yes, Rachel was definitely the last person anyone would suspect of being a spy, even those who, like himself and Robert Kinsey, dealt with shadows every day, in their respective ways.

His thoughts returned to the matter at hand as the sounds of a phone receiver being picked up filtered through the headphones. There was a great deal of constitutional, legal-type stuff that said he wasn't supposed to be listening on anyone's private phone conversations, but since the sort of people Malcolm Barrett was dealing with generally seemed to find the Constitution little more than a mosquito-sized inconvenience, he had lost very little sleep over it. Nevertheless, Kinsey _had_ been careful, thus far. Rachel hadn't yet been able to access his personal cell phone, and certainly not the phone in his home study, which Barrett suspected was where the real cream lay.

"This is Kinsey," said the very impatient-sounding politician on the recording.

"Senator, how good to hear your voice. I don't know if you remember me, we only spoke once, but _such_ an enlightening experience."

There was a very obvious pause of annoyance. "Why on Earth are you calling me? Especially here?"

"I'm afraid the usual channels are simply not expedient enough for me, Senator. You know me. I like to do things in a hurry." The second voice Barrett did not recognize, but he instantly took aversion to the speaker. The voice was male, with a light trace of accent, and a tone that was decidedly oily and… smarmy.

"Well, you'd better get to the point quickly then," Kinsey snarled. "I don't have all day, and don't _ever_ call me here again, understand?"

"Very well. I'm sure you've heard by now about the Stargate program's encounter with a supposed miracle drug," the stranger said bluntly, suddenly all business. "I will be frank, Senator, such a substance could be extremely beneficial to my… project." Here, Barrett frowned. This must have been one of the things Rachel knew would catch his attention. Until now, he'd been mercilessly free of leads on unsanctioned research. Not that he believed for a second there was none going on out there, but the respite had been almost like a Christmas break for him. Well, all respites came to an end eventually. Still, uncovering this sort of thing hadn't exactly been the point of tapping Kinsey's phone.

"If your sources are so well-informed, then you know as well as I do that the drug is flawed."

"So is my project," the other pointed out dispassionately. Then he gave a short, sardonic laugh. "Apart from that, the substance still has potential, and of course I'm not the only one interested. We want some."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Oh, come now, Senator. We're all in this together. Someone—and of course I won't name names, hatched a rather clever plan to get it. Possibly even get it refined in the process, if all _goes_ to plan."

"_Why_ are you telling me?" Kinsey repeated, much more sharply. Barrett imagined him sitting hunched over the desk gritting his teeth into the receiver.

"Even now the Tok'ra scientists are researching improved applications of the drug. I imagine they'd like a willing test case. And your daughter," here the unctuous voice paused dramatically, "—is very ill."

Judging by the very long and flabbergasted pause that followed, Barrett guessed even Kinsey was stunned by the direction the conversation had just taken. Barrett himself blinked several times, his thoughts flying about until they landed on Amelia Kinsey, younger of the senator's two daughters and an accomplished violinist. It was common enough knowledge in Washington's high society circles that the girl's life expectancy wasn't that great.

"I keep my family out of any of this. I thought that was understood."

"Oh, relax. She wouldn't know what was really going on. What I'm proposing to you in no way threatens her safety, and will more than likely save her life."

"Go on."

"Our mutual friends are willing to contribute a good deal of money into your care, Senator, in addition to the money they would front for the cover story, if you'll cooperate in this matter." If Barrett hadn't been jogging, this would have been the part of the recording that caused him to lean forward more intently. It was the 'mutual friends' he was interested in. Kinsey seemed to have connections to all kinds of mysterious 'friends' these days. The NID wanted very much to know who they were.

"And what is it I'm supposed to do?"

"Merely offer to give the SGC a financial boost if they save Miss Kinsey's life with the Tretonin. Of course, eventually she's going to have to come back home, and hopefully bring some of it with her. After that, it's a simple matter to siphon off what samples we need. I don't think I'll need _too_ much for my purposes, and others only wish to study it at this point."

The conversation didn't last much longer, only long enough for Kinsey to agree to the plan before they made a very abrupt goodbye. Barrett listened with half an ear for anything else vaguely relevant, but his mind was already teeming with the wealth of half-enlightening and frustrating information. If only they hadn't been so good at remaining cryptic.

Still, it was far better a lead than he'd had in months. He'd keep an extra close watch on Kinsey's bank accounts in the next few days, and he'd have to keep an eye on this situation with the Senator's daughter, too.

As he wrapped up his jog, he idly wondered why all roads of his career eventually seemed to lead to the Stargate.

* * *

* * *

**A/N:** - Welcome to the rewrite of _Amelia's Violin_. First off, I want to thank all the people who read and reviewed the original version and apologize that this has taken much longer than I'd planned.

I still want (and am planning) to write a sequel. It is just taking a long time because I've spread myself over several projects which I try to give equal consideration. Plus, I've gotten involved in vidding, and I'm also involved in writing original fiction. In other words… so much work, so little Saché. lol

However, I thought I'd divulge a couple of the basic reasons I pursued a revision of this story. While most of the romantic storyline remains intact, I had some problems with the justification of other plot elements. The first was the offworld adventure/ mystery of P3X-651. I liked my concepts, and also thought I had a strong beginning, but the resolution was entirely too convenient to be worthy of Stargate. Too much omniscient author aid. So the obelisk storyline (as we call it) has been completely revamped, and I think everyone will find it much more satisfactory.

Second, I didn't feel like I gave Kinsey enough focus as an antagonist in the original version. Again, it was a matter of things being too convenient. I used him as a device to get Amelia to the SGC (and then to take her away again), but we all know that with Kinsey things are rarely ever what they seem. So although he doesn't have that much more screen time in V2.0, a little more light is shed on his motivations through the character of Malcom Barrett, whose addition to this story was a joy to write.

I think that's all for now. Many thanks go to my friends **Melyanna** and **Dominique** for their support, enthusiasm, and feedback in helping me work through this rewrite. I'm going to try to update once a week or so.

Enjoy!

Saché


	2. Prelude to a Tootsie Pop

**CHAPTER TWO _– _**_Prelude to a Tootsie Pop_

_

* * *

Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,  
__So do our minutes hasten to their end,  
__Each changing place with that which goes before,  
__In sequent toil all forwards to contend.  
__Nativity, once in the main of light,  
__Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,  
__Crookéd eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,  
__And time that gave doth now his gift confound.  
__Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,  
__And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,  
__Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,  
__And nothing stand but for his scythe to mow._

_And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,  
__Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand._

Sonnet 60 by William Shakespeare

* * *

As a teenager, Amelia Kinsey had never been disposed to take naps. She'd always been a very energetic person, which was a good thing, since her life had been one of nonstop activity since she was a small child. Growing up, she'd spent her days in an endless stream of lessons under the care of countless nannies and tutors. When she was old enough, she'd begun paying her dues to her father's political career at various social functions— everything from reception galas to red-ribbon dedication ceremonies to charity events. By that time, she was also beginning to build a life of her own, playing her beloved violin as part of several distinguished Baltimore youth symphonies, and setting her sights on a permanent career in music.

Indeed, she'd taken all the steps necessary to succeed in her chosen path— a Major in Performance from the Oberlin Conservatory of Music and before long a seat with the National Symphony Orchestra. She'd gotten away from home on her own meal ticket, something she'd always been extremely proud of. At the age of twenty-four, she had built herself what she was convinced would be a very fulfilling life, with neither the time nor the inclination to ever take a nap.

A year ago, all that had come crashing down around her.

Through weary, heavy-lidded eyes she gazed dispassionately at the intricate tile-work on the ceiling of her bedroom in her parents' Washington mansion. Late afternoon sunshine spilled in through sheer drapes on the French doors leading to the balcony outside. The air was thick and warm, contributing to the stupor she'd been under for the better part of the day.

These days, she spent much of her time in this manner. Chemotherapy was hard enough on anyone, but lately Amelia's sessions seemed to be leaving her more tired than ever before. Or maybe she was just losing heart. The treatment was not proving very effective, and though nobody ever voiced it around her, Amelia knew there wasn't much hope for her recovery.

As was the case with most women her age, the breast cancer had not been diagnosed until too late. By then, it was so advanced it had spread to other parts of her body as well. Surgery was impossible, and all other treatments unlikely, though they'd tried many. At the request of her sister, Lydia, Amelia had moved back in with her parents to be more easily cared for. She gave up her position with the symphony. She now took a nap for the better part of most days.

Amelia shifted slightly, craning her head to gaze at the music stand set up next to her bed. She was grateful, at least, that despite the severity of her illness, she was still able to play her instrument. This round of chemo was over and she would not have another for a few weeks. In a couple of days she'd have more energy, and she'd be able to get out of bed, perhaps go shopping, and play her violin.

A soft tap on the door drew her attention away from the music stand. "Miss Amelia?" One of her mother's favorite maids poked her head hesitatingly into the room. "Are you up for company? The Senator wishes to speak with you."

Amelia blinked slowly. "That's fine. Thank you, Marian," she replied with a small nod, trying to resist a sigh. She hadn't seen her father for days, but somehow, one-on-one conversations with him always made her feel more tired than ten rounds of chemotherapy, and they always had. Marian pushed the door open more widely and stepped out of the way to reveal the tall form of Robert Kinsey standing just behind her. "Hey, dad," said Amelia.

"Amelia," her father greeted in return, looking a little uncomfortable as he stepped into the room. He also looked out of place in his starched suit. She wondered where he'd just come from. Odd that he would come up here first. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"I have some good news," he announced. That was her father. Straight to the point. He'd never been one for small talk, at least not if it wasn't political, and especially not with his children. He sat down slowly in the chair nearest the bed.

"Yeah?" Amelia murmured sleepily, curious despite herself.

"I understand the chemotherapy hasn't been very effective."

"Not exactly, no."

"Well, the good news is that you won't have to be going through that anymore."

Now she was _really_ curious. "What do you mean?"

Her father opened his mouth, then glanced back at the bedroom door, which was still hanging open. Quickly, he got up, crossed the room, and shut it before he came and sat back down again, speaking in a very hushed and secretive voice. "Amelia, I've recently received permission from the right people to have you taken to a medical research facility in Colorado. They have a groundbreaking new treatment there that will probably be able to help you."

An odd chill swept Amelia's body at this little speech, not only because of its strangeness, but also because it was so unexpected. Despite her weariness, she slowly rose to a sitting position to stare at her father. "Medical research facility?" she repeated. "Permission?"

"The research is conducted under the supervision of the Air Force. It is secret, for now."

Amelia wasn't quite sure what to make of this announcement. To say she was stunned would have been an understatement. The chill she'd experienced earlier had as much to do with the strange, clandestine mannerisms of her father as it did the content of his cryptic words. She'd spent most of her recent life trying _not_ to think about her father's position and what sort of things he might have been made privy to, and Robert Kinsey had never bothered discussing such matters with his youngest daughter. The extent of their relationship usually consisted of his requesting her presence at the many political functions where the presence of family would rack up points on opinion polls. Amelia had never felt very close to him. The indications of what sort of life he might really be leading sat rather uneasily with her. For one thing, why would he need to shut the door?

"If this treatment is so great, why isn't it available to everyone?" she finally asked.

"Someday perhaps it will be, but the time is not yet right for that."

"Isn't it safe?"

"Yes, it is safe. It will work. I've pulled a great many strings to get you this chance, Amelia. Our flight leaves for Colorado in the morning."

Amelia continued to stare blankly at her father, not really sure what he expected her to say. In another lifetime, she might have argued against being told what to do, but right now she felt much too tired to resist her father. Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, there was one undeniable truth to all of this. If something wasn't done, she was going to die, and she wanted very badly to survive. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay, dad."

"Good," her father said approvingly, giving the curt and satisfied nod of a man who was used to getting his own way. He got to his feet. "I'll send up someone to begin packing your things shortly. Our flight leaves early tomorrow; I've got to be back in Washington for a committee meeting on Thursday."

She watched him leave the room before she swung her legs slowly over the side of the bed and headed towards the bathroom. At least she wasn't feeling too nauseous today. She could probably just start packing on her own. Whoever her father 'sent' would really have no idea what all Amelia needed packed.

She made her way to the bathroom and peered at her reflection in the mirror. A pale, slightly freckled face gazed back, rather wan-looking, even in this good light. She fingered the dark brunette curls that fell onto her shoulders. Somehow, they made her face seem even paler. Her hair was actually very fair— a light, reddish blond— but since the chemo she'd been having fun with several wigs, figuring she may as well get what enjoyment she could out of the experience. Dark hair was something she'd always wanted as a little girl. She smiled a little as the curl twined around her finger.

If her father was right, and this strange new treatment was successful, then he was correct about the end of chemotherapy. Soon her hair would begin to grow back. Perhaps it would come back dark instead of light. Despite herself, a small ray of hope began to blossom inside Amelia. Perhaps soon she would be well, and her life could go back to the pleasant way it was before. Everything would be just the same, and she would never have to bother with a midday nap again.

* * *

The next morning was a little draining, but at long last, Amelia found herself in an elevator with her father, two members of the Air Force, and a number display that kept getting higher, despite the fact that they were going down.

"Lieutenant Grogan, can I ask you a question?" she finally asked. She was eyeing the number of buttons on the elevator panel nearby. "Why, exactly, does a medical research facility need to be twenty-eight levels underground?"

At her question, two of Amelia's three companions turned to gaze at her in surprise, undoubtedly because she'd been pretty quiet for most of the morning until now.

"Well, it's easier this way, Miss Kinsey," said young Grogan at last, very seriously. He paused, and rocked slightly on his feet. His eyes flicked briefly to her father, and he continued, "If anybody dies, they're already underground, see?" Only then did Amelia note the twinkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips he was valiantly trying to suppress. She could not keep back a laugh of her own, despite her father's disapproving glance at the young man. "Sorry, sir," Grogan quickly muttered, and straightened to a stance of military attention, eyes facing ahead.

The Senator returned his attention once more to Amelia. "This base is a converted missile silo," he said. "It was decided to be the most secure venue for the Air Force's special needs."

Amelia decided not to point out that her father hadn't actually answered her question. Instead, she continued to watch the number display. At last it stopped on level twenty-five. "Senator," said Lieutenant Grogan, reaching down to pick up Amelia's suitcase. "I'm to show Miss Kinsey to her quarters. The General is expecting you in his office." He nodded at the elevator's fourth occupant, the other airman who had yet to speak.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Amelia's father. Grogan stepped out of the elevator and Amelia followed somewhat hesitatingly. She turned just in time to see the elevator doors close once more on her father and the other officer.

"Can I get that for you, Miss Kinsey?" asked Grogan. He nodded at her right hand, where she was clutching the handle of her violin case. The suitcase and the instrument were the only things she'd brought with her.

"I'm fine, thanks," Amelia replied.

"Let's go, then," he said. They proceeded out into a tunnel-like, concrete corridor, and they hadn't gone very far when Amelia realized that most of the corridors looked the same. "Well, this far underground, at least nobody has to wash the windows," she observed dryly.

Grogan laughed. "That'd be another benefit, yes."

"How long have you been assigned here?" she asked as they walked.

"Just over a year. And let me tell you, there isn't any other assignment I'd rather have. I'm thrilled to be involved."

Amelia gave him a shrewd expression. "You don't look like a doctor to me," she muttered.

"Nope, not a doctor."

"There's more going on here than just medical research, isn't there?"

Again he tried to suppress a smile. "I didn't say that," he insisted.

She sighed and laughed. "Okay, fine. I'll play along. But I'm not brainless, you know."

"A shame on anyone who think so, Miss Kinsey," said Grogan. He stopped before a blue-gray and yellow striped doorway that looked no different than any of the others they'd passed. "Here we are. The infamous VIP room. One of them, anyway. Specially decked out just for you, ma'am." He swiped a security card through the scanner on the door and eased it open. "I've got to go report to the General," he continued, walking into the room and setting her suitcase beside the bed. "I'll leave you a chance to get settled. Someone should be along soon to direct you. In the meantime, Sergeant Prescott will be along shortly to stand guard."

"I need a guard?"

He shrugged. "For the moment. It's standard procedure. Don't take it personally."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"My pleasure," he said. Then he was gone.

Amelia looked around the room and gave a small sigh. She had to admit that the décor, warmer and less military than the rest of the base, was nice enough, but the walls behind the furniture were still plain, gray concrete. She wondered how often she'd be allowed to leave. "Might as well get used to it," she informed herself in a pragmatic tone of voice.

In an effort to shake off her gloom, she squared her shoulders and swung her suitcase up onto the bed. Within ten minutes she had everything unpacked and put away. Then she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about the course of the day thus far. They'd awoken early in Washington, and had flown to Colorado on her father's private jet. It had been an uneventful flight, and Amelia had used the opportunity to catch up on some much-needed rest. She was still recovering from the latest bout of chemotherapy, although her newfound optimism seemed to be helping her regain her energy more quickly than usual.

After landing, they'd been escorted by two Air Force officers to a plain car and driven for about forty-five minutes until they'd come to this place, the Cheyenne Mountain Air Force base, home of NORAD. The most mystifying part of her morning had been the very long and verbose nondisclosure agreement she'd been forced to read and sign before they let her in. After that, they'd met up with Lieutenant Grogan, who'd led them the rest of the way.

She could hear the alarm clock next to the bed ticking softly. How long would it be before someone came to retrieve her? "Not that I care," she informed the light fixture above her head. "This is fun. Really."

Eventually, her mind once again started drifting to her father and his career and all the other unpleasant thoughts she'd had when he'd first informed her of this plan. Amelia decided, however, that she really wasn't in the mood to dwell on all that again. She sat up very quickly. "I am not going to be depressed," she said to the light fixture matter-of-factly.

Three minutes later, her violin was in her hands and she had lost herself in her music. She'd brought a limited selection of her favorite pieces, and already she was afraid that they would end up being worn out. For now though, she almost instantly felt more relaxed and more cheerful.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard muffled voices outside her door. "Finally," she muttered, lowering the violin from her shoulder.

There was a pause, and the door opened about halfway. Apparently, Sergeant Prescott had arrived, for someone clearly on guard duty was easing the door open to admit a man with short, fair-colored hair in blue fatigues whom Amelia didn't recognize. "Hello?" she asked uncertainly. She had been expecting to see her father, or perhaps Lieutenant Grogan again.

The man gave her a warm smile. "I'm sorry, Miss Kinsey," he said, staring at her with his head cocked ever so slightly. "I came to investigate the source of the music. If I'm not mistaken it was…" he paused and gazed at the ceiling for a moment in concentration before saying, "Mozart's third violin concerto, first movement."

Amelia blinked. "That's right," she said, felling totally bewildered. "The Allegro."

His smile broadened before he fixed his eyes on her violin. "And you were playing it?" he asked, taking a couple of steps into the room. "It sounded great. Just like what I hear on the radio."

"Thanks, I think," she replied, laughing tentatively.

"No, really," he insisted, "it was great. I've never seen a real violin before."

"You mean up close?" she asked, unthinking.

"Nope, I mean ever." He hopped up a little to sit on the bureau behind him, plopping down the notebooks and folders he'd been carrying in one hand. Then he pulled something out of his pocket. "Tootsie pop?" he asked. "It's chocolate," he added meaningfully.

"No thanks," said Amelia. She watched him pull the wrapper of his sucker and stick the paper in his pocket before she added, "I don't mean to be rude, but who are you? Is my father expecting me?"

The young man had just popped the sucker into his mouth, but at her question his eyes widened and he pulled it out again, jumping down from the bureau as quickly as he'd mounted it. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, shaking his head. He extended his hand, which she accepted almost warily. "Jonas Quinn, from Kelowna."

"Amelia Kinsey," she replied. "Maryland. But you seem to already know that."

He nodded. "Well, the Sergeant there told me who you were before he let me in," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the still-open door. "We were told to expect you, of course, but I just didn't realize it would be so soon."

"I only arrived a few minutes ago," Amelia told him. "Where's Kelowna?"

For the first time since he'd ambled into her room, Jonas Quinn looked out of sorts. He opened his mouth slightly and his eyes shifted around, putting her in mind of a little boy who'd just broken his mother's favorite vase by accident. "Well, uh… Kelowna is…"

"It's a different planet, Amelia," said a new voice. She looked over to the door to see her father standing there, a long with a short, bald man in a General's uniform.

Jonas Quinn spun around in surprise. "General," he said with a nod, looking guilty.

"Planet?" asked Amelia at the same time, staring back with confusion at her father.

She exchanged glances with Jonas Quinn, who gave her a small smile and an embarrassed shrug. "It's also a city in British Columbia, or so I'm told," he offered.

Amelia's father disregarded her question altogether. "Amelia, this is General Hammond, the commander of this base. General, my daughter, Amelia."

"Pleased to meet you, General," Amelia said with a smile, shaking his hand. She found he had a good, steady handshake.

"Likewise, Miss Kinsey. I see you've already met Jonas, but Jonas, I don't believe you've ever met the Senator," said Hammond, with a tone of careful neutrality that failed to alleviate the sudden and palpable tension in the room.

"No, sir, I most certainly have not," said Jonas very seriously. He extended his hand to Amelia's father, and there was a strange, calculative curiousness on his face in place of the smile with which he'd greeted Amelia. "But I've heard a lot about you, Senator."

Amelia wasn't the best at picking up on subtleties, but even she could see that there was something very much unspoken in the exchange between her father and Jonas Quinn as they shook hands— the particulars of which she alone was unaware of. "Mr. Quinn," her father said stiffly, "I've heard a good deal about you as well." He looked as if he wanted to say more, but his eyes flicked to Amelia and he said nothing.

Jonas gave a small cough and released her father's hand quickly. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Miss Kinsey," he said, nodding his head back at her. "I'm just going to get back to work now." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder out the way he'd come. "Major Carter and I were just looking over some data from yesterday's mission, so…" He gave one last guilty glance at Hammond as he took a couple steps backwards the door. "Bye then." Then he turned heel, and as quickly as he'd come, he was gone.

Her father followed Jonas's retreating figure with an unreadable expression before he turned back to Amelia. "Come with us, Amelia." We've got a great deal to discuss."

* * *

When Jonas returned to Sam's lab, he found her reading a blue-bordered file folder with intense concentration. "Hey," he greeted.

She looked up. "Oh, hey. Did you find the notes you wanted?"

By way of an answer, Jonas held up the folders he'd gone to his quarters to retrieve. "Right here," he said, pulling his Tootsie Pop out of his mouth. He tossed them on top of all the other materials he and Sam had been using to study the previous day's mission. "Ran into Senator Kinsey and his daughter on the way back," he added casually.

Sam looked up in mild surprise. "What, she's here already?"

Jonas nodded. "Apparently just arrived."

"Well, that was quick."

"Yeah." He frowned, peering more closely at Sam's reading material. "What's that?" he asked.

"Oh," she replied excitedly, "It's the report on the UAV findings from this morning. Major Lorne brought it up while you were gone."

"Yeah?" he replied eagerly, stepping in for a closer look. "Anything good?"

"Well, unfortunately, there's still no indication of any trinium, however—" she paused and grinned at him, "—you were right in your theory, at least. The survey found a small collection of what appears to be Ancient ruins in the opposite direction from the obelisk."

"Really? That's fantastic. When are we going back?"

"Well, SG-8 and SG-3 were scheduled to go back tomorrow, regardless of the results."

"SG-3?" Jonas asked.

Sam nodded. "Colonel O'Neill and I both have the day off tomorrow, so General Hammond assigned them as backup this time."

Jonas had been skimming the specs the UAV had provided on the ruins with an eager eye. "Well, seeing as how I've got nothing pressing to do, then maybe I'll ask him if I can go along." He looked up and grinned. "Provided we can avoid catastrophe between now and then, of course."

Sam laughed. "You just had to say it, didn't you?" She glanced at her watch. "Wanna go grab some lunch?"

Jonas chose that moment to finally bite into his Tootsie Pop, so for a moment he was only able to nod his affirmative. When he'd finished it off, he added, "Yes. Definitely. I think they're serving pumpkin pie today."

Sam locked her computer, shut off the lights in the lab, and together they walked out into the hallway, heading towards the elevator.

"Did you know Miss Kinsey was a violinist?" Jonas asked as they rounded the corner, his mind wandering back to his earlier encounter.

"Is she?"

"Yeah, she was playing in her room just now."

Sam seemed to be only begrudgingly impressed. "I'm glad I'm not sleeping on her floor then," she said plainly.

"You don't like the violin?"

"Not especially."

"Did you ever play any kind of instrument?" he asked.

"Nope."

I bet you would've been good at it," Jonas said knowingly.

She shrugged as they reached the elevator. "It never really appealed to me," she said, swiping her card to open the doors. They stepped inside and she peered at him curiously. "What about you?"

"I never got around to learning music, but I've always found it very interesting."

Sam smiled amusedly at him. "You think everything is interesting, Jonas."

Their conversation moved on to other topics as they progressed to the commissary, but Jonas could not get his excitement over the violin out of his head. He wondered how long Miss Kinsey would be staying. Maybe she'd be able to play the second movement of the concerto, which was his favorite part. It would be amazing to hear it in person. He wondered if he could perhaps even ask—

He dismissed the thought out of hand. It would never work out. For one thing, he was far too busy most of the time. For another, Miss Kinsey probably wouldn't be staying that long.

* * *

When her father and General Hammond finished explaining things to her, Amelia couldn't do anything for several moments except stare at them in dumb shock. "So—" she finally managed, "—this stargate… Can I see it?" She wasn't entirely sure if she should believe them. It all sounded too incredible.

"Certainly," said General Hammond, nodding his head at the guard beside the door and rising to his feet. The guard flipped a switch near his position and Amelia jumped as a heavy steel cover behind the General began lifting up to reveal a window it had been concealing. By this time, Amelia and her father were both on their feet as well, and Hammond waved them over to the window.

Amelia peered in trepidation through the glass. In a very large, concrete room that fell beneath the briefing room she saw a sight that evoked from her a small gasp. It was a beautiful stone ring with a wheel inside it and lights all around. "Wow," she whispered.

"It's really something, isn't it?" chuckled Hammond.

Amelia glanced at her father, suddenly confused. "But why are you telling me?" she asked. "I mean, I thought I was coming because of some new, secret medical research. What does the stargate have to do with any of this?"

"I was against telling you," said her father, giving Hammond a disapproving look. "As far as I'm concerned, secret medical research was all you ever needed know. But the General convinced me that it would be both difficult and unlikely that everyone you encountered would be able to maintain the pretense." He glanced back towards the hall they'd come in from and frowned. "As just proven by Mr. Quinn's lack of propriety."

"Miss Kinsey, you've signed the nondisclosure agreement. I know you understand the importance of keeping anything you see and hear during your stay a secret."

"You can't tell anyone," her father added. "Not your mother, not Lydia. No one."

"I understand."

"And on that note," the General continued, "feel free to take more liberty with your time her on base, once you know your way around. Certain areas are still restricted, of course, but I'm certain you'll be more comfortable if you're not kept solely to your room and the infirmary."

"Thank you, General. That would be greatly appreciated."

"Excellent. I'll see about arranging someone to give you a tour soon, so you'll know the layout, as well as where you are and are not permitted."

As he spoke, a tall man with slightly graying hair sauntered into the briefing room. "General, did you have a chance to look at my report from—" he broke off, his eyes falling on her father. "Senator! We've missed you! Why, I don't believe we've seen you in this parts since we sent the Aschen packing." The man put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels with a very satisfied smirk.

"Colonel, do you really think this is the time for this?" asked Amelia's father through barely moving lips.

The other man looked briefly at Amelia, and she could clearly see that he knew exactly who she was but didn't care. He looked back at her father. "Why not?" he asked with a casual shrug.

The general was quick to intercede. "Colonel O'Neill, this is Amelia Kinsey. As you know, she'll be staying with us for a few weeks."

"Of course. Nice to meet you, ma'am. Your father and I go way back."

This Amelia could also see. As it had been with Jonas Quinn, there was definitely something going on between her father and the people here that she was utterly clueless about, and judging by the way people were behaving, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. "Thank you, Colonel. I'm afraid to say I know nothing about it, though, considering the venue—" she looked around the room "—I guess that's hardly surprising, is it?"

O'Neill's eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and she wasn't sure, but she thought maybe he was a bit surprised about something. "Too true, Miss Kinsey," he finally said. Then he cleared his throat. "General, if you'll excuse me, I was just on my way to rescue some of that pumpkin pie in the commissary from the fate of either Jonas or Teal'c, so—"

"Very well, Colonel," Hammond nodded. The Colonel gave Hammond a cocky salute and headed back out the way he came.

There was an awkward silence for a moment before her father looked at his watch. "Well, General, I've got a plane to catch back to Washington within the hour. I trust someone will keep me informed?"

"Of course, Senator. If you'll excuse me?" With a very stiff, formal bow of his head, Hammond walked out of the room, heading in the opposite direction as Colonel O'Neill had gone, leaving Amelia alone with her father.

She really wasn't quite sure what to say. At last she blurted the first thing that came to mind, though perhaps it wasn't the most tactful route. "Interesting secret. Makes me wonder what else you know that your family doesn't."

"You're smarter than that, Amelia. I know many things that my family doesn't know. It comes with the job."

Amelia shrugged. "I noticed you didn't bother warning me not to tell John," she said instead.

"I know you don't get along with your brother, Amelia, but you could at least _try_ to be a little more supportive of his career. It's the least you could do after ignoring mine for all these years."

Amelia gave a soft snort and stared out the window at the stargate again without really seeing it. "Dad, I won't do anything to impede his precious career," she said lowly. "But please don't ask me to get out the flags and fix a parade. He'll do well enough on his own. He's got enough ambition to fill a fleet of air balloons."

"Well, I've really got to get going, Amelia, so can we please drop this and have our goodbye?"

"Sure, dad." She walked over and gave him as good a hug as she could manage, considering how sour she suddenly felt. "Thanks for doing this for me," she remembered to add. She did owe him that much.

"You're my daughter," he said in an obvious tone. He reached over to pick up his briefcase from the tabletop. "Stay away from Colonel O'Neill," he said as he headed towards the door.

"Why?" she couldn't resist asking to his retreating back.

"Because he's a walking hellion is why," he replied in his 'that's final' voice without turning around. Then he was gone. Amelia closed her eyes and emitted a long, slow sigh to calm down. It had been some kind of crazy day.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, where the heck do I begin? Perhaps with the sickening tale that we almost lost this story for good? My hard drive died on Friday night. Now, I've lost a hard drive before in the past. More than once, actually, and I know very well the bitter lesson about not being properly backed up against such an eventuality. I keep all my stories on a jump drive and back them up from time to time, not everyday, but regularly enough to minimize loss.

Well, for whatever reason, I had inadvertently removed the backups from the jump drive this one time (go figure). While most of my fanfics remain safe and sound and posted online, Amelia in its original form had been pulled from FF.N to begin the reposting. I had lost _all_ file copies of both versions of the story. You can imagine my frantic reaction.

Fortunately, my friend **Domi Lys**, a long time fan of this story who likes to read printouts rather than a computer screen, still had her printouts from the files I'd sent her over the course of the past year. So long story short, even though I am being forced to retype each and every single chapter… the story is not lost. This is the reason for the delay. I had intended to update Sunday night but did not discover this problem until that time. I have spent about three hours (with intermittent chatting) retyping chapter two for your benefit.

As such, please forgive any quirky, minor typos. I tried to keep an eye on the file as I was going, but I may have overlooked something in my haste.

Your greatly relieved author,

Saché

**EDITED: **To include forgotten sonnet.


	3. The Tour

**CHAPTER THREE** - _The Tour_

* * *

_No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.  
__Thy pyramids built up with newer might  
__To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;  
__They are but dressings of a former sight.  
__Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire  
__What thou dost foist upon us that is old,  
__And rather make them born to our desire  
__Than think that we before have heard them told.  
__Thy registers and thee I both defy,  
__Not wond'ring at the present, nor the past;  
__For thy records, and what we see, doth lie,  
__Made more or less by thy continual haste._

_This I do vow, and this shall ever be,  
__I will be true despite thy scythe and thee_.

Sonnet 123 by William Shakespeare

* * *

It always felt odd to be offworld without the rest of SG-1, but Jonas was glad to have convinced General Hammond nonetheless. The trek from the stargate to the newly discovered ruins required a good deal of walking, so Jonas, SG-8, and SG-3 got an early morning start. Like Colonel O'Neill, Colonel Reynolds kept two members of his team back to guard the Stargate. Nobody was taking for granted the fact that the Goa'uld were a very potential threat on this one.

Jonas had worked hard the previous evening to translate the inscription from the obelisk, but there simply wasn't enough information available to put the writing into any kind of context. For all he knew, it could have been a tetherball pole, a playground game he'd been amazed to discover Earth and Kelowna had in largely in common, though his people gave it a different name. In any case, he had high hopes that this new section of ruins would provide some clues.

"Well, this certainly doesn't look like it was a booming metropolis," Major Lorne remarked when they finally reached the site. He was right. There were little more than two-dozen buildings at best, all of a simple, straightforward design. Like the obelisk, the buildings seemed to be made from a basic, slate-gray stone, but these were not so perfectly preserved. While they appeared to be sound enough structurally, there were clear signs of age and wear on the corners of the buildings and in cracks along some of the walls. The overgrowth of plant life Sam had observed as missing from the obelisk was in abundance here.

"We really should have brought along one of the archeological teams, Major," observed Lieutenant Stewart. He glanced briefly at Jonas.

"I agree, Lieutenant," Lorne replied. "We're pretty much just here to do a preliminary sweep and take further trace samples in hopes of finding trinium. We probably shouldn't be here long."

"Then let's get started," said Jonas, taking a confident step forward. He was glad for the opportunity to be able to study this place without the interference of the archaeologists. While he had the highest respect for Doctor Jackson's colleagues, being around them always made him feel uncomfortable. Strictly speaking, he wasn't really one of them, no matter how familiar he was becoming with the practical applications of their field.

Leaving SG-8 to run their geological tests, he and the remaining members of SG-3 spread out to tour the buildings. Jonas's delight quickly reached exponential proportions when they discovered that there were a myriad of Ancient devices to be found, many that used crystal technology. Some appeared to be still in working order; others not so. He was glad he'd brought extra data discs for his camera.

The largest device was housed alone in its own building in the middle of the ruins. "Judging by the size of this thing—" Jonas said, studying it with his head cocked slightly and his hands on his hips, "—I'd say it was a generator of some kind."

"A generator?" echoed Colonel Reynolds. "For what?"

Jonas shrugged. "Who knows? If we can determine the purpose of this place maybe we can figure it out."

"_Definitely_ a job for the archaeologists."

Jonas rapped his knuckles lightly on the surface of the device. "This thing is too big to move for now, but I know Major Carter will definitely be interested in it. We'll need to make sure we get some good, thorough video footage."

"I'll get Oleska on it."

"Thanks, Colonel," said Jonas, slapping the man lightly on the shoulder as he stepped back out of the building into the breezy morning.

The next building was only a few yards away. Jonas entered it alone, shining light into the corners of the first room that the sunlight didn't reach. Considering that almost an entire corner of the room was crumbling away, this didn't take much. Neither did it take long for Jonas to decide that the building had been some kind of residence, albeit a sparse one. There were a lot of personal-looking items lying about, although most of them he'd have been hard-pressed to decide their function.

The most interesting find was a table laden with small Ancient devices. Jonas paused. Although they'd already found enough Ancient toys to keep Doctor Jackson's colleagues busy for possibly years, something about this particular table stirred his instincts. He stared at the devices a long time, trying to decide if it would be okay to pick any of them up. He eventually decided to risk it, but took a few pictures of the table as he'd found it, just to be on the safe side.

The first one he tried was a hand-held device. The base of it fit perfectly into his palm, and with the help of some obvious grooves, guided his hand into a shape so that his fingers hovered over several small, multi-colored keys arrayed across a panel. Underneath, his thumb was tucked into a position that accessed three more small keys. The device did not appear to be in working order. Mystified, Jonas set it down.

The second was a silver device curved like a pair of headphones. There was a tiny crystal on the side, as well as a small, ticked dial that could be turned a complete 360 degrees in either direction. Unlike its predecessor, the headset lit up the minute Jonas touched it. He briefly considered trying it on, but decided that bringing it back to Sam's lab to be analyzed would probably be more prudent.

None of the remaining devices really caught his attention, except the last, which was a nondescript cube slightly larger than one of Teal'c's golf balls that flared to life the moment he picked it up. Jonas held his breath, his body stiffening cautiously, but the device merely projected a hologram into the air before him— a two-foot square grid filled with information.

Intrigued, Jonas studied the words and symbols in the air before him, doing his best to make out what he could of the Ancient text. "Tampus," he murmured allowed, eyeing one that seemed more familiar than any of the others. "Time?" he guessed hesitatingly. His eyes roved further. "Operati," he added, "Workers." As he spoke, he inadvertently ran his thumb over the surface of the small cube, and noted with some surprise that a highlighted color of some kind changed from word to word at his touch. "It's a menu," he realized out loud a moment later.

Choosing one of the words he recognized, Jonas experimentally pushed harder on the surface of the device. To his great satisfaction, the hologram changed, revealing another menu and a good deal more information. Excitedly, he set the strange artifact down on the table, pulled out his camera, and began taking more pictures. A moment after he put it down, the artifact turned off again.

All three of the devices were carefully tucked inside his bag when everybody reassembled in the middle of the ruins about an hour alter. He'd shown the devices to Colonel Reynolds and gotten permission to take them back to the SGC.

"Well, I hope you gentleman had a more fruitful day than we did," Major Lorne said, blinking against the sun that had become quite high and hot since they'd arrived. He pulled his cap down a little closer to his eyes. "No trinium. Not even trace samples. I know it's early, but I'm beginning to think it isn't here."

"It was worth a shot," Jonas pointed out, hoping he was being helpful.

"Is there anything else, maybe?" asked Colonel Reynolds. "Naquadah?"

Lorne shook his head. "I wish. Lots of minerals, but nothing we can't find on Earth."

"Well," Reynolds replied, "Quinn found some things, at least. Let's move out. My kid's got a ball game tonight; I don't want to be late."

* * *

The remainder of Amelia's first day at Stargate Command had been spent trying to get some rest. This, however, was easier said than done. Every time she'd come close to drifting off, klaxons would start blaring all over the base, something that seemed to happen every couple of hours, regardless of whether or not there was an emergency. Eventually though, things calmed down enough that she was able to get some real rest, but not before she'd decided to invest in some earplugs as soon as possible.

True to his word, General Hammond's assigned tour guide arrived almost first thing the next morning. "Well, Miss Kinsey," said Lieutenant Grogan with a smile and a nod, 'I guess we get to pick up where we left off yesterday. Except this time you know about the stargate," he added, grinning.

Amelia's response to this was a shake of her head that betrayed her still-fresh amazement. "Yes, the stargate," she managed. "I think I understand now why you were so excited about this assignment."

Grogan waved a hand toward the door. "Shall we get started?" he asked cheerily, before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "We'll start at the top and work our way down."

Amelia found her tour fascinating. Stargate Command was a very well-equipped and efficient complex, complete with top-of-the-line science labs and libraries, medical facilities, and all manner of professional staff.

"Miss Kinsey, I'd like you to meet Doctor Fraiser, our Chief Medical Officer here at the SGC, and someone you'll probably come to know pretty well."

Doctor Fraiser was a small, pretty woman with very large brown eyes who, despite her diminutive size, conveyed an air of quiet authority. "I've been briefed as to your condition, she said to Amelia after the two of them had been introduced. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "I'm afraid I've already got a full schedule today, but I'd like to see you sometime in the next few days for some examinations, and also explain to you some of the history behind the treatment you're to receive. I understand that General Hammond and the Senator didn't give you very many details beyond the existence of the stargate itself?"

"No, they didn't," Amelia confirmed. "And I'd really appreciate that, doctor. I'm very curious about this treatment."

"Naturally. I look forward to it then, Miss Kinsey."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Another part of the tour consisted of what Grogan referred to as the 'real-life' levels, which included locker rooms, a rec room, a mess, and other personal-type areas. Along the way, Amelia questioned him about his time so far in the service and how he'd come to be a part of the stargate program. His stories were fascinating and insightful, and when mixed with his upbeat, easygoing personality, made for a very enjoyable morning.

At last they made their way to the very bottom level. "I know you got to see the stargate yesterday," Grogan said as the elevator descended down to the number 28, "but I thought you might like a closer look, so I asked General Hammond and he said it's okay. Provided, of course, you realize that this is _definitely_ an off-limits area. Most of the time." His eyes twinkled as he spoke.

"Yes, I assumed that was a given, "Amelia said with a laugh. They stepped out of the elevator, down a short hallway, and into the large room where the stargate stood. Up close it was even more imposing than it had been the day before. For a moment Amelia could only stare. When she remembered to catch her breath, she managed a shaky, "Wow." Then she laughed.

"What's so funny?" Grogan asked.

"Nothing. I've just got to think of a more original way to express my amazement, is all. That's the same thing I said yesterday."

Before Grogan had a chance to reply, there was a loud sound from the stargate, causing Amelia to jump about a foot in the air. She stared as a light on the side of the gate sprang to life and those blasted klaxons started blaring. The wheel inside the stargate began spinning, and she jumped again when a strange sheet of metal sprang out, seemingly from within the stargate itself, to cover the center of the gate in a thick, shiny metal. A loud _whoosh_-ing sound issued from the gate and a bright light flared behind it.

"Please step back, Miss Kinsey," said Grogan, at once the consummate soldier. He shuffled back towards the door, keeping a wary eye on the gate. He seemed to be waiting for something. A few moments later, the metal sheath retracted once again, revealing a glowing wall of watery light that caused Amelia's eyes to bug in amazement once more. "It's okay," Grogan assured her. "If they opened the iris, then they received a code from one of our people." He looked at his watch. "Probably Lorne's and Reynolds' teams coming back with Jonas."

"Jonas Quinn?" Amelia asked.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "You know him?"

"Yes, I met him yesterday," said Amelia distractedly, still staring at the shimmering light.

"Oh. Well, cool."

Amelia didn't bother replying. Just then, people had begun emerging from the Stargate, each accompanied by a soft slurping sound. There were nine in all, and she immediately recognized Jonas Quinn among them.

"Welcome back, people," said General Hammond's voice over an intercom speaker. Amelia turned around, and saw the General standing there behind the glass of another window close by. "I trust your mission was a success?"

"Successful enough, General," called Jonas towards the window with a broad smile.

"No," called another man at the same time, causing several of the others to chuckle around him.

General Hammond seemed amused as well. "We'll debrief at 1400 hours," he said, and turned from the microphone.

Grogan stepped forward to high-five another young man about his own age. "Ryans! How was it?" he asked eagerly.

"Windy," replied his companion, pulling off his helmet. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding at Amelia.

His question was answered from an unexpected source. "Miss Kinsey, it's good to see you again," said Jonas Quinn, stepping up to the small group. "What do you think of the stargate?" he asked.

"It's—" Amelia struggled to find a word for a moment as she stared at the vast ring just behind the men. "Wow," she finally said, with yet another laugh.

Jonas grinned. "That was pretty much my reaction," he said.

"Well, Miss Kinsey," I'm afraid we've got one more stop and then tour's end," spoke up Grogan as his friend Ryans walked off towards the door. Grogan gave a wide smile. "I've got my own offworld mission this afternoon," he said proudly.

"Oh, you were having a tour?" Jonas asked. "How did you like it?"

"It was very informative, Mr. Quinn," said Amelia. "The Lieutenant here has been a splendid guide."

"You can just call me Jonas. So where is this last stop?" he asked, turning to Grogan.

"Control room."

"Really? I was just heading there myself."

The three of them went back out into the hallway, but instead of the elevator, they took a short flight of stairs up to a small room filled with computers and equipment where the General had been standing when the stargate activated. He was still there, leaning over a computer monitor and conferring with a technician. He straightened when he noticed the threesome. "Miss Kinsey, how are you enjoying your tour?"

"She found it most informative, General," Jonas said. Amelia turned to blink at him.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Hammond. "Now that you know some of the layout, I can give you clearance to certain areas, which I'm sure will make your stay more comfortab—"

"General!" called an urgent voice from behind them. Amelia, Jonas, and Grogan turned and saw a woman with short blond hair heading purposefully towards them.

"Major?" asked Jonas, clearly puzzled. "I thought you were off today."

"I was," said the woman. She exhaled and gave the general a very serious look. "Something's up," she said. "General, I need to speak with you right away." Her eyes rested briefly on Amelia and Grogan. "In private," she added.

"Of course, Major. Lieutenant, please escort Miss Kinsey back to her quarters. I'll send someone to brief her on security policy as soon as they can be spared."

"Um, General, I don't mean to be impolite, but I haven't eaten anything all morning, and—"

"Of course. My apologies. Lieutenant, do you have time to escort Miss Kinsey to the commissary?"

Grogan glanced at his watch, furrowing his brow. "I can take her there, but we've got a mission briefing in ten minutes."

"I'll take you, Miss Kinsey," said Jonas helpfully. "I could go for something to eat myself. That is if you don't mind me swinging by the security labs first, General," he added, hoisting the bag he held in his hand. "I brought some stuff back."

"That will be fine, thank you, Jonas," said General Hammond with a nod. Then he looked back at the blond woman. "Major?" They walked off together.

"Well, it was fun, Miss Kinsey," said Grogan. "I've gotta run. See ya, Jonas!" Jonas gave him a small wave as he headed back down the stairs.

"Thank you!" Amelia called to his retreating back.

* * *

"So how long have you played the violin?" Jonas asked, studying Amelia Kinsey from across the small mess table. As promised, he'd brought her here after a quick trip to drop off his new offworld acquisitions. Everything brought through the gate had to go through a preliminary security screening before anyone was permitted to study it further.

He noticed Miss Kinsey was a very neat and meticulous eater. She was also sitting up perfectly straight, unlike Jonas who was slouching back casually in his chair. He supposed her proper table manners could be attributed to her privileged upbringing. He also noted that she'd eaten very little, despite the fact that they'd been here for half an hour.

"Since I was five," she said after she'd swallowed a bite of salad. "Violin was one of many 'accomplishments' my mother shuffled me through when I was little." She pursed her lips in concentration. "Among them ballet, painting, piano, French, tennis, voice, and riding."

"Wow," said Jonas, "that's a lot of accomplishments."

Amelia smiled. "Well, violin was the only thing I really latched on to, although I suppose my French is passable. And I do like playing tennis, when I get a chance. But I like volleyball better."

"Not on the list?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? Not _nearly_ refined enough," she laughed.

"Apparently not."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Amelia peered at him curiously for a long moment. "So you're from another planet?" she finally asked.

Jonas nodded slowly. "Kelowna," he said. "Well, actually, Kelowna is the name of my country. We don't have a name for our whole planet."

"Why are you here on Earth?"

Jonas paused, fighting down the usual wave of sadness that welled up whenever something made him think of home. He was usually pretty good at keeping it from his mind. Then he sighed. "That's a long story."

"Ah." Amelia pushed a tomato around her plate with a fork for a moment before she said, with a wry smile, "You know, I get the feeling I'm going to run into a lot of long stories around this place, most of which nobody will be allowed to tell me."

"My government was conducting some highly controversial experiments," Jonas said calmly, surprising himself in the ease with which the words came out. "Colonel O'Neill convinced me that what they were doing was wrong, but they wouldn't listen to me. So I helped myself to some valuable research material that Earth was interested in and came here. I can't go back home. If I do, I'll be arrested and charged with high treason."

Amelia stared back at him, eyes wide. She had stopped fiddling with her fork. "Oh," she finally said. "Jonas, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to push you to tell me. I was just making an observation."

He gave a small smile. "It's all right. I was actually hesitating for personal reasons. There are some basic guidelines about what we can and cannot tell visitors— all dependent on the nature of their visit, of course."

"Really? Do you think you can tell me what they are? That way I'll have a better idea what sort of questions will just be a waste of my time."

"Mostly the off-limits stuff is military in nature. Details about defensive technologies or any strategic details that are important to the war."

"War?" Amelia asked, alarmed.

Jonas winced. "See, there I probably said too much." When SG-1 were offworld, the Colonel was forever scolding Jonas for being too forward. "But there's all kinds of purely exploratory information I'm sure you'd be allowed access to, if you asked. Other cultures we've encountered— stuff like that."

Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "It's funny," she said, studying him again. "You don't seem very alien. I've always thought aliens would be… I don't know, purple or something."

He grinned. "Well, the Asgard are gray, if that helps."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. Short and gray. And naked," he added.

"Nice."

"As for me, well, there's actually a lot of human life in the galaxy. And it all originated on Earth, believe it or not. Thousands of years ago, a repressive race of aliens know as the Goa'uld used the stargate to colonize human slave worlds all over the galaxy. Kelowna was one of them."

"What happened to them?"

"To who? The Goa'uld or the humans?"

"Both."

"Many of the human worlds, like Earth and Kelowna, managed to rebel against the Goa'uld and evolve into independent societies."

"And the Goa'uld?"

"Ah, well… they're still around," Jonas said nonchalantly. Or at least he hoped it was nonchalant. Colonel O'Neill always said he was a terrible liar too. If Amelia Kinsey suspected anything, however, she gave no sign. What really surprised him was the feeling that he _could_ tell her. She seemed to be a pretty levelheaded person, and Jonas got the impression she was also trustworthy, despite her unfortunate relations.

When he'd met the Senator the day before, Jonas had felt almost instantly why Colonel O'Neill didn't like the man. Kinsey reminded Jonas somewhat of Commander Hale back on Kelowna. Ambitious and shifty— he'd fairly radiated enmity when Jonas had shaken his hand. Not for the first time, Jonas wondered exactly what the details were on the history between Kinsey and Colonel O'Neill.

The intercom crackled. "SG-1, please report to General Hammond's office. Repeat, SG-1, please report to General Hammond's office."

"Oh, that's me," said Jonas, grinning proudly at Amelia. Even after all these months, the excitement of knowing SG-1 included _him_ had not worn off. "If you're done I can take you back to your quarters."

She wiped her mouth off with a napkin and nodded. "I am, thanks. I appreciate you coming here with me."

"No problem. I enjoyed it."

After he'd escorted Amelia back to the VIP room, Jonas made all possible speed down to General Hammond's office, where he found the General and the rest of the team waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late," he said, shuffling in to stand behind the seat where Sam was sitting. "Had to take a slight detour." He frowned at the presence of Colonel O'Neill in the room. "Colonel, I thought you were off today too."

"Carter called me on her way here."

"Glad to see you could join us, Jonas," said General Hammond. "Teal'c, could you shut the door, please?" When Teal'c had done so, the General continued. "There's been a serious security breach regarding the Prometheus project. Since we don't have any idea where the information leak came from, I'm going to keep this matter as secure as possible. In other words, this meeting is to be kept to yourselves until further notice. This morning, Major Carter was approached by a reporter asking some very knowledgeable questions about Prometheus."

As General Hammond continued speaking, Jonas decided he was glad he'd gotten the chance for such a leisurely lunch. It seemed the next few days weren't going to be very quiet, after all.

* * *

**A/N: **I revised the last chapter to include the Sonnet that I forgot to include in my haste. So those of you who adore the Bards words as I do… go check it out!

And now I would like to expound on a fun and small minor change that gets the most shine time in this chapter, which is the addition (replacement) of Major Lorne to this story. He used to be Major Lars, but as those of you who've been keeping up on your Atlantis know, he's quickly becoming a much beloved and popular secondary face in the Stargate 'verse. What I _didn't_ know was that he'd been on SG-1 for a single episode, _Enemy Mine_, in Season Seven. Ironically, that's the only episode of SG-1 I've never watched even once all the way through, because I thought it was so incredibly dull. However, Lorne was at the time on a team doing involved in naquadah mining, so I thought making the simple change from Lars to Lorne would be fun for my story.

Next chapter: _Malek_

Until then!

Saché


	4. Malek

**CHAPTER FOUR - **_Malek_

* * *

_My love is as a fever, longing still  
__For that which further nurseth the disease,  
__Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,  
__Th'uncertain sickly appetite to please.  
__My reason, the physician to my love,  
__Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,  
__Hath left me, and I desperate now approve  
__Desire is death, which physic did except.  
__Past cure I am, no reason is past care,  
__And frantic mad with evermore unrest,  
__My thoughts and my discourse as madmens' are  
__At random from the truth vainly expressed;_

_For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,  
__Who art as black as hell, as dark as night._

Sonnet 147 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Malek of the Tok'ra had been to the planet of the Tau'ri on one previous occasion. The humans' leader, General Hammond, had requested his and Jacob's aid in explaining the events that had taken place at the Tau'ri alpha site a few months before. This meant that he now found himself in the position of making introductions.

"General Hammond, may I present Kleyon, newly-elected member of the Tok'ra High Council."

"Welcome to Earth, Councilor," the General replied.

"It is my honor to meet the renowned leader of the Tau'ri," Kleyon returned, nodding her head respectively.

"I know you've come to begin your tretonin work with our guest," the General said, extending his hand down the ramp to indicate they precede him, "but there is another urgent matter I would like to discuss with you first. Please follow me to the briefing room."

Malek reacquainted himself with his surroundings as they followed the General. Aledar, his host, was pleased to be back. He was fascinated by the Tau'ri— members of his own race living free and fighting the Goa'uld. The only other humans Aledar had ever known had been slaves. This was chiefly the reason Malek had taken the trouble to become well-acquainted with Selmak's new Tau'ri host, Jacob Carter.

"Please explain this emergency," Kleyon requested politely as soon as they'd been seated in General Hammond's briefing room.

The general looked troubled. "For the past several months, our military scientists and engineers have been building a new prototype vessel capable of interstellar travel," he began.

Malek and Kleyon exchanged glances, the only indication of their surprise. "Indeed?" Kleyon replied. "The Tok'ra were not aware that the Tau'ri were pursuing such an endeavor."

"According to the terms of our alliance, there was no obligation to divulge its existence to the Tok'ra until the prototype proved viable."

Kleyon nodded. "Understandable."

"Yet you are telling us now," Malek pointed out. "Why?"

Hammond sighed. "Earlier today, the vessel— which we call _Prometheus—_ was hijacked by insurgents. They were holding Major Carter, Jonas Quinn, and at least two civilians hostage, maybe more. Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c went after the ship with one of our X-302 fighters. We believe they managed to board successfully, but we lost contact when the ship went into hyperspace. We've had no further contact since. From what little we've been able to determine, it's very likely Major Carter is dead already." The general's face was very stiff and grim.

"This is indeed grievous and distressing news, General," said Kleyon sympathetically.

"We've got our best people working on the problem, but I'm afraid our experience with this sort of thing is almost nonexistent," Hammond continued. He looked between the two of them. "With the data we can provide, is it possible the Tok'ra might be able to project the destination of the _Prometheus_?"

"It is possible," Kleyon said slowly, calculating, "I cannot make any promises, General, but if you provide me with the information, I will return at once to the Tok'ra base and see what I can do." She set her chin a little strongly as she spoke. General Hammond wasn't aware that this would effectively be the _first_ request Kleyon brought before the council. Although Malek didn't foresee any objections to helping, particularly with Selmak and Jacob's presence, there were some among his people who found dealing with Tau'ri inexperience to be petty and tedious. For this reason, he'd been very satisfied when Kleyon had managed to edge several opponents for the highly coveted council position. She had a stronger habit of compassion than many.

"That is all I can ask for," Hammond said. "Thank you very much, Councilor."

"In the meantime," said Malek as the three of them rose to their feet, "I wonder if I might proceed with the tretonin matter, General, as it _is_ the reason we're here. There is no need for me to accompany Councilor Kleyon back to deliver this request."

"Of course," General Hammond agreed, nodding. "I'll call Doctor Fraiser and let her know you're here."

A little while later, Malek stood politely aloof while General Hammond conferred with Stargate Command's doctor, whom he also recognized from his time at the alpha site. Fraiser gave him a cautious, sidelong glance out of the corner of her eye as they spoke. A moment later she nodded, then approached him as General Hammond took his leave. "Commander Malek," she greeted, "welcome to the infirmary."

"Doctor Fraiser."

"Our patient is on her way," she said briskly, leading him further into the medical facility, shuffling several files in her arms as she spoke. "I have a few minutes to tell you a little bit about her condition before she arrives."

Doctor Fraiser paused, exhaled loudly, and then turned to face him. "I'll be frank with you, Commander. The last time I worked directly with a Tok'ra for the sake of experimental science, I was not overly impressed. Just so we're clear I will not be pushed around when it comes to the health and safety of any of my patients."

Malek frowned. "To what are you referring, Doctor?"

"Are you familiar with the Tok'ra Anise's research with the Atoniek armbands?"

Malek's frown deepened to one of disapproval as comprehension dawned on him. "Ah," he said knowingly, "Doctor, rest assured that Anise's methods have always been considered…_rash_ among her peers. You needn't fear any such indiscriminate behavior on my part."

Doctor Fraiser seemed to relax slightly. "That's good to know," she said, though he could tell by her tone that she was going to decide for herself nonetheless. She turned once more to her files. "Our patient's name is Amelia Kinsey. She's suffering from acute cancer of the breast, which has spread to secondary cancer of the liver, and for all practical purposes… untreatable."

She put down the files and looked him in the eye. "I examined her myself this morning, at which time I also took the opportunity to explain to her a basic history of the Goa'uld and the Tok'ra in anticipation of your arrival today. General Hammond permitted her to read an abridged version of SG-1's mission to Pangar, so she has been introduced to the basics of tretonin, but I thought I'd leave it to you to explain the specifics."

Amelia Kinsey turned out to be quite young, of average height with a very pale face. She wore a standard green uniform like those he'd seen the other Tau'ri wear, though it looked slightly too big for her. After they'd been introduced, she took a seat cross-legged on one of the infirmary beds.

"How are you feeling?" Doctor Fraiser asked her.

"I'm starting to feel sick again," the girl confessed, glancing cautiously and curiously at Malek out of the corner of her eye. "Nauseous. Usually the first few days after I recover from chemo I feel pretty good, but it doesn't last long."

"The nausea is likely a side effect of the cancer in your liver."

"Yeah, I know." Amelia clearly spoke from experience.

Doctor Fraiser turned to Malek. "Commander?" she prompted expectantly.

He nodded. "First of all," he began, "I'd like to thank you, Amelia, for volunteering to aid the Tok'ra in this fashion." He gave a short bow.

"Aid?" Amelia repeated dumbly.

"Since we began making refinements to the Pangarans' formula, we've been desirous of a test case upon which to try the improved drug. Miss Amelia's willingness to help us is most opportune."

"Test case?" Amelia blurted. "You mean this is a new thing?"

Malek was politely puzzled. "You did not know?"

After another moment's confused silence, Doctor Fraiser spoke up hesitatingly. "I'm sorry… we were under the impression that Amelia would be treated and cured in the same manner as the Pangarans. From what I understood, Egeria helped you isolate the defective gene that made the Pangarans dependent on tretonin."

Malek exhaled. He peered at Amelia for a moment, then back at Doctor Fraiser. "I apologize. If you are indeed ignorant of the changes regarding the tretonin, then I must make them more clear to you before we proceed. There is an element of risk involved, and the Tok'ra will not agree to this arrangement with someone who is not fully aware of it."

"Okay…" said Amelia cautiously.

"As you know," he began, "tretonin was discovered several weeks ago by SG-1 on a planet called Pangar, and the drug itself has an interesting background. Suffice to say, Goa'uld and Tok'ra symbiotes possess remarkable capabilities of repairing the human body. The development of tretonin was based upon these capabilities.

"The tretonin the Pangarans manufactured not only supplanted the immune system, it very nearly eradicated it. As you have said, Doctor Fraiser, it was Egeria who was responsible for the flaw in the drug, and Egeria who supplied the information we needed to create the antidote. Once synthesized, the antidote was able to reverse the effects of the tretonin and allow the Pangarans' normal immune system to reestablish itself."

"So what's the problem?" Doctor Fraiser asked.

"The problem is the inconvenience of the manufacturing process itself," Malek replied. "While it would be fairly easy to mimic the Pangarans' process— correcting the original flaw, of course— and produce a version of tretonin that would work correctly, it still requires the use of live symbiotes for production."

"Which is impractical because only a limited amount of the drug can be produced at any given time," Doctor Fraiser said knowingly, nodding her head. She seemed to be catching on to his train of thought.

"That is correct," he affirmed. "In addition, symbiote queens are few and far between. Those that exist among the Goa'uld are some of the most powerful and best-protected of their kind."

"And if the _Tok'ra_ had another queen—" Doctor Fraiser began.

"—we would not be a dying race," Malek finished. "Not to mention that if we had another queen, she most certainly would _not_ be spending her time helping produce tretonin."

Amelia timidly raised a hand. "Excuse me, but… if you've decided that making more of this tretonin is impractical, then what am I doing here?"

"That is what I was coming to," said Malek with a nod. "The Pangarans stumbled upon a remarkable discovery with the creation of tretonin, more so than even they probably realized. Ultimately, _their_ version has— as you say— proven impractical, but there are several valuable factors that ensure the discovery won't prove fruitless."

"Can you synthesize it?" Doctor Fraiser asked.

"Yes. Although the drug still requires a genetic element based off of a symbiote, we have managed to create a prototype that uses byproducts of symbiote body chemistry. Essentially, these byproducts have been the key ingredient in tretonin all along, but the Pangarans didn't have the technology to isolate what they needed from the rest of the symbiote. The Tok'ra can glean the necessary byproducts from our own systems, however," he paused and looked at Amelia, the prototype has not been tested."

"Ah," said Amelia slowly, full realization finally coming upon her.

She looked at Doctor Fraiser, who only shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Amelia. This is all news to me too."

The girl looked deep in thought for a moment. She looked at Malek. "You said there were risks," she said. "What kind of risks, exactly?"

"At worst, a poor reaction to the drug, resulting in death. However, I see this as unlikely. Far _more_ likely is that the strength of the drug may be incorrectly accounted for, and you would become dependent as the Pangarans were, leading to an indefinite period of time before the Tok'ra were able to correct the problem."

Amelia exhaled, very loudly and very slowly. "I suppose," she said with deliberation, "that those risks aren't really all that big of a deal when it comes down to it." She looked at Malek squarely. "I'm dying anyway."

He nodded. "So you agree?"

"I agree."

"Very well. In that case, I wonder if Doctor Fraiser might assist me in taking some blood samples and other information from you, Miss Kinsey. We can use your genetics as a blueprint to hopefully adapt the drug to your specific needs. This will make the chances of success very high. I will take it back to the Tok'ra base and begin preparing the prototype for your treatment."

"So what exactly will it do?" Amelia asked. "Attack the cancer?"

"Effectively? It replaces your immune system with a much more powerful one. This is particularly successful with your malady. This cancer, as you Tau'ri call it, is especially difficult for your own immune system to deal with, because the problem lies within your own body's cells."

Doctor Fraiser opened a drawer in the cart she was standing beside. She had just pulled out a case of syringes when, without warning, a brilliant flash of light filled the rear half of the room. Doctor Fraiser jumped, Amelia gave a small cry of surprise, and Malek took a step backwards, shielding his eyes. When the light disappeared, there were several cases of supplies notably missing from the far wall. "What was that?" Amelia asked. Her eyes were as wide as _cheriannath _petals, a white flower that grew on Aledar's homeworld of Laicha.

Doctor Fraiser didn't seem to have taken long to recover her senses. "My guess is the Asgard beaming technology," she said. "I've never seen it myself, but that's exactly how I've heard it described." She frowned, and stepped around the nearest bed to a storage cabinet. A key from her pocket unlocked the cabinet, and when she opened it she found nothing inside. "What the—?" Doctor Fraiser shook her head, and turned back to look at Malek and Amelia in amazement. "I have to go report this to General Hammond. I'll send someone to help you with your tests, Malek, if I can't make it back soon. Wait here."

* * *

Discovering that Malek was one of the Tok'ra she'd just learned about— that he was, in fact _two_ different people— was decidedly odd for Amelia. In fact, the frequency of odd discoveries since coming here was beginning to put her in an all-around state of numb detachment. It was as if she was turning off the part of her brain in charge of rational thinking just to absorb everything she'd been learning in the past few days. When she stopped to consider, it was really rather amazing how calmly she was handling things.

After Doctor Fraiser had gone, Malek and Amelia sat together in silence for a few moments, but it did not last long. "I have never yet witnessed Asgard technology in such close proximity," Malek said. "Most interesting, if that's what it was. I wonder what they want with Tau'ri medical supplies."

"I've never witness _any_ Asgard technology before," Amelia replied cheerfully. The level of her bravado seemed to be increasing proportionally to the level of weirdness the longer this day progressed. "Heck, four days ago I didn't know they existed."

"The Asgard are one of the most advanced and influential races in the galaxy," Malek said.

"And they're short, gray, and naked," Amelia recited, nodding. At these words, Malek just stared at her, that puzzled expression returning. She laughed. "Sorry," she said. "That's just all anyone's told me about them." His expression changed from puzzled back to serene, and Amelia resisted the urge to sigh. Didn't this guy have a sense of humor?

"Miss Amelia—" Malek said slowly, almost hesitantly. He turned to look in the direction Doctor Fraiser had gone, as if checking to see whether or not she might be coming back. Then he returned his attention to Amelia. "There is another possible solution to your problem, apart from tretonin," he said carefully.

Amelia wasn't sure she cared for his clandestine manner. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"You could become Tok'ra. I'm sure it will not be long before another of our number is in need of a new host." His face was grim.

"What gave you that idea?" she asked, edging back a little ways from him.

He seemed to notice her reaction, and frowned. "Four years ago, Major Carter's father was suffering from an affliction very like yours, except he had possibly only days to live. He was offered, and accepted, the choice of becoming a host to Selmak, one of the most respected Tok'ra of our number. Had he not accepted, they both would have died. Many of us had hoped—"

"Hoped?" Amelia prompted warily.

He met her gaze boldly. "Hoped that diseases of this kind might prove a source of willing hosts among the Tau'ri," he finished.

"So— you said there are two people in there, right?"

Malek paused and closed his eyes. Amelia wondered what he was doing, for it didn't seem as though he was at a loss for words. "That's right," he said when he opened them again, except his voice had changed. It now sounded quite normal. "I'm Aledar, Malek's host," he said. Then, to her surprise, he gave her a warm smile, something Malek had seemed incapable of doing. "I usually let Malek do the speaking for us. I guess you could say I'm kind of shy."

Amelia couldn't help but smile in return. "Nice to meet you," she said genuinely. "So… you're a host," she stated. "Were you sick like me?"

He laughed softly and shook his head. Then he looked thoughtful. "I was a slave," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened. "Oh," she said, not sure how else to reply.

Aledar didn't seem very concerned. "I met the Tok'ra when I was in the service of the Goa'uld Bestet, working as a lowly slave in her fortress on Laicha. When the fortress was attacked by Ba'al's forces, it was very nearly overrun with Jaffa. Malek, who was working undercover at the time, saved myself and a handful of others, but his host was mortally wounded in our escape. As thanks for my freedom, and because I wanted to help in the fight against the Goa'uld, I offered myself as a new host so Malek could live on."

"Wow," Amelia said. "So you don't find it at all difficult to be a host?"

"Difficult? Yes, at times. But not in the sense that I think _you _mean." He sighed. "The Tau'ri have displayed a very high aversion to the idea of blending on more than one occasion. Some of the Tok'ra take offense."

"What is Tau'ri?" Amelia asked. He'd used that term several times now.

"Those people native to your planet. Earth."

"Hmmn," said Amelia thoughtfully. Then she said, "Perhaps you're just looking among the wrong Tau'ri."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm guessing most, if not all, of the people you've encountered from my planet have been Americans, right?"

"The country for which your President speaks? Yes. I understand that our treaty of alliance is specifically with this America."

"Well then, there's something you need to understand about Americans," she said knowingly. "In our culture, the sovereignty of the individual is highly important. You might say it's what our country was founded on. The idea of… host and symbiote sort of flies in the face of all that. I wouldn't judge us too harshly. It's rather an ingrained reaction."

"And you think, for this reason, the Tok'ra should look for hosts elsewhere?"

Amelia nodded. "There are many, _many_ other countries on Earth, some with cultures almost entirely different from that of America. In other parts of the world, group values and communal life are more respected than individual rights. Perhaps those people would be more approachable."

Aledar closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Amelia was once more speaking with Malek. "That is a very intriguing idea, Amelia. It is certainly worth considering. Thank you."

"Oh, well—" she said, panicking slightly, "I'm sure the secrecy of the stargate is still an issue. Please don't take anything I say as a certainty. I'm not exactly authorized to speak for my world."

"Of course not. But I take it you share in this… American mentality? You would not wish to be a host yourself?"

"I have to admit, I find the idea frightening," Amelia said after a pause. "I don't think it's for me." _Not to mention_, she added inwardly, _I don't think dad would take too kindly to _that_ course of action._

They talked a little longer, until at last Doctor Fraiser returned in a bustle. It _was _the Asgard," she said without preamble, returning to her abandoned syringe and setting to work again. "Apparently, they've been beaming up various kinds of supplies from all over the base."

"For what purpose?" asked Malek.

Doctor Fraiser gave a satisfied sigh as she looked over at him. "_Prometheus_ just returned to Earth orbit," she said, relieved. "Commander Thor found them and brought them back here."

"That is good news. The crew?"

"All of our people are accounted for."

"Very good news," Malek reaffirmed.

"Well, we're not out of the woods yet, apparently," said Doctor Fraiser. "The supplies are for a mission Thor wants SG-1 to help him with. They might be gone for a while." A flash of worry passed briefly over her face before she continued. "When we're done here, I'm going to need to take an inventory to determine _exactly_ what was taken." At this statement, she switched her tone from worried to mildly annoyed.

"SG-1?" Amelia repeated. "Is that… Jonas's team?" In the few days that she'd been getting to now her way around base— using a security card General Hammond had given her which automatically denied her access to areas she wasn't supposed to be— Amelia had started to pick up on some of the jargon of the SGC, including how they designated the various offworld teams. She'd also heard several people mention 'Prometheus' this morning, and had been dying of curiosity to know what it was about.

Doctor Fraiser turned to regard Amelia and looked suddenly chagrined. "Yes," she said, "but I'm afraid I shouldn't say any more. It's classified." She had finished assembling the materials for taking Amelia's blood, and now stepped over beside her. "Push up your sleeves," she instructed.

"Is he in a lot of danger?" Amelia asked as she obeyed.

The doctor's only reply was a curt, worried nod as her skillful eyes scanned the insides of Amelia's arms. This was the second time she'd done this today, so she opted for the unused arm, wrapping an elastic band around the upper half of it when she found a vein she liked. Amelia was quite accustomed to having blood drawn, so she didn't even wince as the needle pricked her skin.

After the blood sample was taken, Doctor Fraiser gathered a few other samples. When Malek had everything he needed, he made his goodbyes. "I will advise the Tok'ra Council that the Prometheus has been accounted for," he said. "And I will begin work on the tretonin prototype immediately. I should return with samples for your treatment in a few of your days."

After he'd gone, Amelia went back to her room and reread the file Doctor Fraiser had given her about the Goa'uld, the Tok'ra, and tretonin, more slowly this time. Now that she'd met Malek and Aledar, it made a little more sense and had become all the more fascinating. She had a lot to think about as she drifted off to sleep that evening, but before she succumbed completely, she offered up a silent prayer for the protection of her new friend Jonas and his teammates.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, yeah, stop staring at me like that. It's a tedious business to type up whole updates, okay? LOL

For those of you keeping score, the first half of this chapter was originally told from Doctor Fraiser's point of view, but in considering all aspects of the tale from a rewrite/ improvement perspective, switching to Malek was a natural, logical, and almost-necessary choice. When I was first writing the story, Malek became a more important part of it (characterization-wise) than I ever really intended. So I thought this time around he deserved more of a showcase introduction.

Next update, um… soon? LOL Actually, I'm going to try and get it up Saturday, and get a little momentum going on this puppy. I've already written three scenes for the sequel. Huzzah!

Until then,

Saché


	5. Kaleidescope

**CHAPTER FIVE – **_Kaleidescope_

* * *

_When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
__I summon up remembrance of things past,  
__I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
__And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:  
__Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,  
__For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,  
__And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,  
__And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:  
__Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,  
__And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er  
__The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,  
__Which I new pay as if not paid before._

_But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,  
__All losses are restor'd and sorrows end. _

Sonnet 30 by William Shakespeare

* * *

After the mission with the Replicators, it was several days before feelings between the members of SG-1 could be described as anything but strained. Jonas felt he could understand Sam's frustration. In some ways he shared it, but it was worse for her. _Sam_ was the one who had connected with Fifth. _She_ was the one who had promised him trust and friendship. In Fifth's eyes, she would be the one who had betrayed him.

She wasn't exactly angry with Colonel O'Neill— she acknowledged her understanding of his choice. She even agreed that it was probably what had needed to be done. But, as she quietly confessed to Jonas one afternoon, none of that took away the feelings of guilt and uncertainty that had plagued her since it happened. It hurt, she told him. What if they _could_ have saved Fifth?

Jonas confided his observations to Teal'c, and was rewarded— as he had been on many occasions— by the Jaffa's surprising but helpful insight into their teammates. Teal'c told him that it wasn't unheard of for Sam to disagree with the Colonel. She and Doctor Jackson had been very alike in that respect, except that Doctor Jackson had no inhibitions about vocalizing his opinions— usually quite liberally.

"Well, I don't think Sam's the kind of person who is afraid to say what she thinks," Jonas pointed out. "So why does she hold back where Doctor Jackson didn't?"

"Do you believe she should be more outspoken in this matter, Jonas Quinn?"

Jonas shrugged. "I'm not saying one way or the other. I don't really think this is a case of right or wrong. I'm just curious about why she would bottle this up when it's obviously hurting her so much."

Teal'c looked thoughtful. Finally, he said, "Major Carter is first and foremost bound by her duty to O'Neill as her commanding officer. To question his authority and judgment too frequently and too vehemently would reflect poorly on his leadership capabilities and not be beneficial for a strong chain of command."

Jonas considered and then nodded. "Which is something Doctor Jackson certainly didn't need to worry about. I guess I can see that."

"Also, Major Carter _has_ expressed her opinion to O'Neill on one occasion. I believe Major Carter feels this more than sufficient. She knows that O'Neill is a very strong-willed individual. Repetitive argument very rarely has any effect upon him."

After this analysis, Jonas decided to reevaluate his opinion of his own ability to read human character. He'd always considered himself rather adept, but now he thought that perhaps people on Kelowna were simply more open all around, hence easier to read.

Sam seemed to deal with this awkward distance between herself and the Colonel by consuming herself in work, and Jonas followed her example. While Sam concentrated on the data collected by her monitoring equipment on 651, Jonas worked for three straight days and nights translating every last bit of Ancient text he could find in the small holocube he'd found there. He slept little, for his fascination with his findings seemed to feed his adrenaline. The more he learned, the more complete a context he was able to create, making the translation go more and more speedily.

Finally, he learned enough that he requested a meeting with General Hammond and the team.

"The cube," he said excitedly when they were all gathered together for what felt like the first time in forever, "is a kind of daily log or record, which was maintained by the manager of this place and his subordinates."

"Manager?" Colonel O'Neill repeated, slowly lifting away the cover of the folder Jonas had provided with translation of all the menus and lists he'd discovered. "Manager of what?"

"It's an incredible find," Jonas said, nodding at the picture of the cube that Sam was looking at. "It tells us things about this place that we would only have been able to speculate about before."

"Such as?" Colonel O'Neill prompted impatiently, waving his hand in a circle to emphasize. Sam continued perusing the notes at her own rate while Jonas talked.

"Unlike other kinds of Ancient text and dialogue we've run across before, the wording of this is very simple and straightforward. It was hardly any trouble at all to translate, which makes sense, because the people who were writing it probably weren't looking to create epic masterpieces, only to do their jobs."

"Jonas!" Colonel O'Neill snapped.

"Colonel?"

"What does it _say_?"

"Oh. Right. This whole place— the stargate, the ruins, the obelisk— they were all part of a special Ancient mining project. Well, actually I guess you could say it was a manufacturing project too. Maybe more manufacturing than mining, but anyway— the cube was a kind of daily log book or recording device that the workers used to—"

"Crystals," said Sam excitedly.

The Colonel turned and frowned at her, then peered at the page she was looking at, as if expecting it to say something totally different than the identical page somewhere in his own folder. "What?" he asked.

Sam looked up at Jonas. "You think they built some kind of natural factory— where they grew the crystals they used in their technology."

Jonas nodded. "I'm almost a hundred percent positive. If I'm reading between the lines correctly, the production facilities were actually _within _the mountains themselves, and the obelisk is the door… somehow."

Sam turned excitedly to General Hammond. "General, this could be huge. The Goa'uld absorbed the knowledge of Ancient crystal technology, but we've never been able to learn how it's done."

"And by _how_, you mean…?" Colonel O'Neil began.

Sam turned to him. "Sir, as you know, crystals are found in nature, but they can also be artificially grown with the right materials and conditions. The Tok'ra are especially skilled in this, but their resources are limited. We've yet been able to determine where and how the Goa'uld obtain their supply."

General Hammond looked at Teal'c. "Teal'c, do you have any knowledge about that?"

"I do not. Jaffa are not permitted knowledge of crystal technology. It would undermine the Goa'uld pretense of being gods."

"Goa'uld magic, right Teal'c?" Colonel O'Neill said knowingly, smiling a little.

"Indeed."

"So why do we need an Ancient crystal factory?" The Colonel asked. "I mean, if they can be grown, why haven't we ever just made our own?"

"We could try, Sir, but the crystals the Goa'uld use are too pure and too perfect to be created by our current technology." She nodded at her folder. "This place could give us insight."

"It is also possible that the Ancient outpost exceeds even the knowledge of the Goa'uld in its level of crystal technology," Teal'c said. "We may obtain a tactical advantage."

"I'm all for that," Colonel O'Neill said, looking impressed. He glanced at his folder a little more favorably.

"So am I," General Hammond agreed. "What I'd like to know, though, is that if this place is such a technological find, why is it the Goa'uld haven't snatched it up already?"

"From what I can gather," Jonas replied, "there was a giant shield around the entire outpost that protected the Ancients' resources there, including the stargate. There seemed to be some kind of territorial dispute between two factions of the Ancients. The shield was a defensive measure."

"Which might explain why there's no evidence of any permanent settlement," Sam observed.

"Maybe, but I think that has more to do with the gravitational conditions of the planet," Jonas said.

Enlightenment overcame Sam's features. "The heavy gravity would be a very favorable condition for the crystal manufacturing," she said, nodding excitedly.

"So where is this shield now?" the General asked, deftly shuffling the conversation back on track.

"Burned out?" suggested Colonel O'Neill.

Jonas shrugged apologetically. "That'd be my guess."

"So… the Goa'uld knew this place was here, but could never access all this stuff before?" the Colonel asked skeptically.

"Guess we've just got great timing," Sam said with a shrug. She looked very pleased.

"Yeah, until somebody notices the electric fence is broken," the Colonel pointed out.

General Hammond turned to Jonas. "Does the cube explain how to open the door?"

"That's where it gets tricky," Jonas replied. "The cube keeps talking about a key— I think it's one of those devices I found along with it, but I can't imagine how either rof them would be a key. One of them won't even turn on."

"Major," the General said to Sam, "I'd like you to help Jonas investigate these devices. We'll see if we can't figure this out. If this crystal technology has as much potential benefit as you say, I think it's worth a shot."

"Yes sir, I agree."

A couple of hours later found Sam and Jonas hard at work pursuing answers to their new findings.

"I think," Sam said, holding up the device that Jonas hadn't been able to make work— the one that fitted on the hand— "that its power source is just depleted. I might be able to interface it." She began assembling some tools together.

There was a knock outside the laboratory door. "Evening, kids," Colonel O'Neill greeted, stepping inside. He was wearing his street clothes, and looked at his watch expectantly. "Carter, I know you're having fun, but I believe we have a mission tomorrow, remember?" Don't make me order you to go home."

Sam looked up and smiled. "No, sir. Just let me get this thing turned on and I'll close up shop, I promise." Impulsively, she looked over and handed him the other of the Ancient devices— the one that looked like a pair of silver headphones. "In the meantime, check this out," she said, eagerly extending the device toward him.

He stepped forward and accepted it warily. "What is it?"

Sam reached out for the device again. "We're not exactly sure," she said, moving to put it on his head, "but—"

Colonel O'Neill jerked back. "Hey, hey!" he said. "I've had enough alien devices messing with my head for three lifetimes."

"Sir, Jonas tried it on four days ago and there's nothing wrong with him."

Colonel O'Neill looked over at Jonas skeptically, making Sam smile.

"It's really interesting, Colonel," Jonas took the opportunity to urge. "Go ahead, try it."

"I've tried it too," Sam assured him. "It's fine."

Looking extremely skeptical, Colonel O'Neill grudgingly allowed Sam to fit him with the device. A portion of the headset flipped away from his face, so that there was a thin wire set directly in front of his eyes about six inches. Then Sam flipped the small crystal switch.

The Colonel jumped slightly, which wasn't that different than the way Jonas had reacted when he'd initially tried it on. The device projected a beautiful stream of holographic images before the eyes which— as far as he and Sam were able to tell— was only discernable to the wearer. The stream was constantly shifting colors and patterns. There were also pulses, Jonas had noticed— flares of brighter color, almost like a rhythm of some kind.

After studying the effects of the device for a few moments, Colonel O'Neill raised his eyebrows. "Cool," he commented cautiously. Then he reached up and pulled it off. "Carter," he said, "need I remind you what happened the _last_ time we found an alien machine that made pretty lights?"

"I know, sir, but Jonas has been getting the proper medical checkups, just like all of us. He's fine."

"Well, all the same. If any of you start randomly spouting Ancient or trying to jump out of windows, don't say I didn't warn you." He turned the device off and pulled it from his head

"Who's to say there's not some perfectly innocent purpose to this device?" Jonas asked. Sam and Colonel O'Neill both gave him puzzled expressions, so he went on, "I mean, the Ancients had a very extensive and developed culture, so it stands to reason that not _everything_ they invented had some scientific or groundbreaking purpose." He shrugged. "For all we know, this could be nothing more than an Ancient's version of a kaleidoscope."

"That's a good point," Sam said, turning from her tinkering to give Colonel O'Neill a superior expression. Jonas was pleased to see that the two of them seemed to be returning to their former relaxed friendship.

Sam turned back to her work. "Okay," she said slowly. "I think this is ready. Here goes."

Jonas and Colonel O'Neill leaned forward expectantly as Sam brought together two connectors with a steady hand. Almost instantly the strange, translucent keys which covered the top of the handheld device lit up from within an array of rainbow-colored lights.

The threesome said nothing, though Colonel O'Neill cocked his head with interest. Sam and Jonas exchanged expectant glances before Jonas carefully picked up the device and slipped his hand inside it. He waited a moment, and when still nothing had changed, selected one of the keys and pushed it experimentally with his forefinger.

The result was a clear, crystalline tone which vibrated almost soothingly throughout Sam's lab.

"Pretty," observed Colonel O'Neill.

"Yeah," Jonas agreed, smiling. A little less hesitantly, he tried another. This produced a similar sound, but higher. Several moments later, it became clear that this effect was uniform for every key on the device.

"That sound…" Sam murmured, deep in thought. She looked at Colonel O'Neill. "Does it seem familiar to you?"

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "I don't remember."

"No," she said, comprehension suddenly overtaking her features. "No, you might not. I'm not sure you were there long enough. "Sir," she said, "this sounds _exactly_ like the force field that was guarding the Sentinel."

"The Sentinel?" both Jonas and the Colonel repeated.

"That thing that Grieves and Kershaw screwed up?" the Colonel added.

"Yes, sir. Daniel was able to figure out the secret behind opening the force field. It had something to do with music. I can't remember the particulars."

"Corresponding wavelengths between pitch and the visible light spectrum," Jonas said offhandedly, his mind rapidly racing over the report he'd read from that mission.

"Right," said Colonel O'Neill, nodding, though he was looking disbelievingly at Jonas. Sam smiled, and the Colonel turned back to her. "Okay, Carter. Home. Bed. Now, please. You should get some rest too, Jonas. I'll see you both in the morning."

After he'd gone, Sam began putting away her things. "I'll re-read the mission report on the Sentinel device," Jonas said. "If you really believe there's a connection, it might be worth looking into."

"Good idea," she replied, and glanced at the clock. "But if you want to get it tonight, you'd better get up there before they lock the records room."

"Right." He gathered his notes and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Major. Thanks for your help."

"Good night, Jonas."

Jonas managed to catch the woman who maintained mission records before she locked her office. A charming smile and a little imploring persuaded her to allow him in. Jonas was very familiar with this room, having spent the better part of his first few months at the SGC becoming familiar with the contents within, and the story they told. As such, it wasn't difficult to obtain the specific file he needed. He knew exactly where to go to find it.

As he withdrew the desired mission report, his eyes fell on another, a mere handful of folders behind it in the drawer. Almost hypnotically, he reached out and withdrew the second report, gazing at the cover painfully. It looked so innocent and innocuous, and the combination of letters and numbers upon it were an inadequate representation of its importance to Jonas. P2S-4C3. Kelowna.

The edges of the file were well-worn. Jonas was hardly the only person who had read it. Almost everyone at the SGC had wanted to learn the details of Doctor Jackson's death and he knew General Hammond had been forced to heavily enforce classification protocol to prevent everyone and their sister from reading the file at their leisure, simply to satisfy their own curiosity.

Jonas forced himself to put the folder away, but a malaise of melancholy hung about him as he checked out the report for the Sentinel mission, bid goodnight to the record keeper, and made his way to his quarters for the night. Sometimes it was hard to believe it hadn't even been a year since those fateful events, either by Earth days or Kelownan. A year ago, the stargate on his homeworld had been nothing more than a neglected curiosity. All the focus and attention had been consumed with the naquadria project and the looming threat of war.

If SG-1 had never come to Kelowna, everyone Jonas had known and loved there would now be dead, himself along with them. With no Doctor Jackson there to prevent disaster, Jonas was reasonably certain the naquadria experiments would ultimately have destroyed them all.

"_Now you might think it will ensure peace and freedom, but I _guarantee_ you, it will never have the effect you're hoping for until you use it at least once."_

He still remembered every word Colonel O'Neill had said to him that day.

_But you just go ahead. Blow yourself to hell with it._

Jonas sighed heavily as he got off the elevator for the final time that night. It did no good, he resolved for the thousandth time, to fret over what had passed. His regret was something he'd have to live with forever. There was no escaping it; to that he was resolved. But he would never be able to forget, nor cease worrying over what further mistakes his people might be making, even as he was slowly building himself a life in this new place.

A sound interrupted his reverie. A bright, pleasant sound, one that caused him to look up. Amelia Kinsey was practicing her violin. He smiled. He'd been treated the past few evenings to the sound of her music— her room being just down the hall from his— but he hadn't spoken with her since their lunch together in the mess a few days ago, just before the Prometheus incident.

In an odd mimic of the first time he'd met her, Jonas knocked politely on the door of Amelia's room and the violin abruptly stopped. A moment later the door was opened and Amelia's face appeared. "Jonas!" she said with a pleasant smile. "Please, come in."

Leaving the door open behind him, Jonas stepped into the room and looked around. It seemed a little bit more lived in than last time. The bedclothes were rumpled and scattered with random leaves of sheet music. There were a couple of shirts carelessly tossed on top of the bureau, and remnants of a meal on the coffee table next to the TV.

"It's nice to see you again," Amelia continued, putting the violin away in its case as she spoke. "I heard you got in a spot of trouble while you were gone. I'm glad you're safe."

"Yeah, it was an interesting experience," he agreed. "But we managed." He nodded at her violin. "It sounded good. Again."

"You heard me?"

"Every night, actually. That's kind of why I'm here."

She seemed dismayed. "Oh, was it too loud? I'm sorry. I brought my practice mute. I can use it, if it's bothering you."

"No," Jonas replied quickly. "No, that's not it at all. Actually, I've really been enjoying it, though Teal'c and a couple of other offworld residents have their quarters here," he realized out loud. "Maybe we should ask them."

"Probably," she agreed, looking regretful. "But why did you come, then?"

"Um," he began, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly and laughing a little, "I was wondering if you'd be interested in teaching me how to play a little. Just while you're here, I mean," he went on in a rush. "See, I'm not allowed to leave the base, and sometimes I get bored in my downtime. Plus, I've always really wanted to learn about music. If it's not too much trouble."

Amelia looked thoughtful. "I can certainly try," she said at last. "But strings isn't exactly the easiest instrument family to pick up and go with. I'm not sure how much I'd be able to teach you in the short term."

"I'm a really quick study," he offered helpfully. When she laughed, he shrugged with a smile. "No, really. I am. Everyone says so."

She just smiled another moment more before finally shaking her head. "Okay, then. When do we start?"

"Well, I've got a couple missions coming up," he said, thinking aloud. "One tomorrow and one two days after, but I've got a little time in between. Is the day after tomorrow okay?"

"I'm supposed to have a checkup with Doctor Fraiser every day about four o'clock, but that's all I've got going on," Amelia said. "Barring any medical disasters she has to deal with, of course," she added, "which seems to happen a lot."

Jonas frowned and closed his eyes. "Four o'clock, that's—"

"Oh, sorry. Um, sixteen hundred?"

He opened his eyes. "Right. Thanks. Okay, how does thirteen hundred hours strike you. Right after lunch?"

"Thirteen hundred, day after tomorrow," Amelia confirmed with a smile. "It's a deal."

Jonas went to bed feeling much better.

* * *

**A/N:**- Okay, I'm posting this in a huge hurry, getting ready to leave for rehearsal. I haven't re-read it for typos, so just… overlook them when you find them. I'll comb through it later. LOL

As the Sentinel isn't one of the most popular or well-remembered episodes in the history of Stargate (probably because it's blindsided by the episode next in line), I was surprised upon re-watching it to discover the musical idea of harmonics that I thought I so cleverly utilized in the original version of this fic had already been taken. But, rebounding type that I am, I decided to use it to my advantage. LOL

**Terreis**- It's tretonin. Sorry, pushed "send" on the reply to your review too quickly.

**Pike**- Yes, and the sequel should be good! I've gotten some great Egyptology information from a friend to work with, and I think you'll be proud of it. LOL

Until next time!

Saché


	6. G, D, A, E

**CHAPTER SIX -** _G, D, A, E_

_Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?  
__Sweets with sweets war not; joy delights in joy.  
__Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly?  
__Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?  
__If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,  
__By unions married, do offend thine ear,  
__They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds  
__In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.  
__Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,  
__Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,  
__Resembling sire and child and happy mother,  
__Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:_

_Whose speechless song being many, seeming one  
__Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'_

Sonnet 8 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Two days later, Amelia showed up right on time, violin in hand. As she had warned, though, playing the violin turned out to be a good deal more complicated than it appeared.

"Okay, now—no, you need to lift this arm up a bit."

"Like this?" Jonas asked, lifting his right elbow several inches higher than it had been before. He felt incredibly strange, standing rigid and stiff while Amelia positioned his limbs with precise care. He didn't understand why it mattered what his _feet_ were doing in order to play a violin, but he let her work.

She laughed and shook her head. "Closer, but you went a little too far," she said. She stepped around him, reaching up her hand to pull the offending elbow back down a bit. While she did so, Jonas concentrated on maintaining the peculiar grip on the bow as she'd shown him.

"Are you sure I can play like this? I feel like a statue."

"You'll get used to it," Amelia said offhandedly. She circled him a couple of times, occasionally making small adjustments to his arms and hands before she stepped back at last with a nod of satisfaction. "Okay," she announced. "Remember how this feels. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Jonas replied obediently, giving her a broad smile. "Now what?"

"Now we get to play a note. In order to get the best sound, you want to draw the bow perfectly perpendicular to the strings, most often just over the f-holes. Go ahead, why don't you play a D?"

"D, D..." Jonas muttered. "That would be the _second_ string from the left, the others being G, A, and E, respectively."

"You memorized all those strings so quickly?" Amelia asked in a teasing voice. "Incredible. They weren't kidding about you being a quick learner, were they?"

"Would you be quiet?" Jonas chided, though he couldn't help but smile before raising his eyebrows. "I'm trying to play here," he added, causing her to laugh. Then he furrowed his brow in concentration, tilted the bow ever so slightly so that it rested on the proper string, and pulled it along slowly. He was pleasantly surprised at the result. The sound that issued from the instrument wasn't overly terrible.

"Not bad," Amelia said approvingly, "but you were moving your upper arm too much." She stepped up close beside him, almost behind and placed her hand on top of his where it grasped the bow. Her other hand she rested on his left shoulder for balance. "Keep the motion in your forearm and your wrist," she said quietly as she began pulling the bow again along the string. Her voice was very close to his ear. "It should be a fluid feeling."

"I think I see what you mean," he observed. "Let me give it a try." She obligingly stepped away and he played the note again.

"Better," said Amelia. "Now you're letting the bow drift, though. Keep it straight."

"Are you always this picky?"

"You may as well learn to do it right from the beginning."

She proved to be equally as demanding throughout the remainder off the lesson, in which Jonas progressed to playing notes on all four of the strings. He was disappointed that she didn't teach him any songs or fingering.

"You may not need a break," she insisted, laughing at the pleading look he gave her, "but I do. This teaching thing wears me out. Besides, I have to practice myself sometime."

"You can practice here, if you want," he offered, handing over the violin.

"Don't you have to work?" Amelia asked, looking around the lab with a puzzled expression.

He smiled. "I told you before, I like listening. Just play whatever."

Amelia paused, giving him a shrewd expression, a small smile playing on the corners of her mouth. When he returned it with a much larger grin, she broke it off, laughing and shaking her head. "Oh, fine," she conceded, reaching out to take the instrument from his hands. "But I may just have to torture you with endless scales. We'll see how well you like it then."

Jonas stretched his liberated arms, then took a seat at his table and cracked his knuckles. "Bring it on," he leveled, his eyes full of challenge. It was a phrase he'd picked up from Colonel O'Neill, and he was pretty sure he'd used it correctly. He made a big show of turning away from her and pretending to be ensconced in his work.

After a few minutes of flipping through music—apparently she'd decided against the threatened scales— Amelia settled into a series of simple etudes. As he'd suspected, Jonas found the music incredibly soothing, and before long he was wrapped up in the artifacts before him, paying little heed to the passing time. He was glad he'd talked her into staying, not only because he truly did enjoy the violin, but also because he found her company pleasant and relaxing, even now when they weren't even speaking.

Finally the music stopped, and Amelia gave a strangely sad sigh. Jonas looked up to see her frowning a little at her music. Then she glanced at something on the wall behind him. "Something wrong?" he asked, looking around to see the clock on the wall.

"Just a little tired, that's all," she replied. "I can't play for as long as I used to."

"Because of your illness?"

She nodded. "Yes. I get sick to the stomach a lot. I need to sit down." Her eyes flicked to the table behind him. "What are you working on?"

Jonas reached up and idly scratched behind his ear. "Cataloguing," he said. "I do this quite a bit."

"Need any help?" she asked.

"Help?" Jonas repeated, blinking in surprise. "Do you have experience with archaeology as well as music?"

Amelia rolled her eyes. "No," she said with a smile. "But surely there's some mindless, repetitive task I can help you with? I don't want to go back to my room. I'm bored of it."

"Oh," he said. "Well," he continued, spinning back around to view the array of artifacts before him. "Yeah, actually," he realized, "you could take pictures and help me enter the data in the computer."

"Sounds great," Amelia said eagerly. She began putting her violin away while Jonas pulled the digital camera out of his desk drawer.

"Isn't this thing amazing?" he asked when he handed it to her. "You can see the picture right in the back as soon as you take it."

Amelia gave him an odd look as she accepted it. "It's amazing, all right," she confirmed. "Do they have cameras where you come from?"

"Yes, but nothing like this. Kelowna is about sixty years behind Earth technologically, in your years. Not long ago, our cameras still required a crate to lug around."

"You seem to be really at ease with all our technology, though."

Jonas grinned. "Fast learner, remember?"

"Right. How could I forget?" She rolled her eyes again, which only made him grin harder.

"Well, plus I've been here a while now," he added. With that, he showed her exactly how to photograph each artifact, and how to store and label the pictures after she'd uploaded them into the computer. "Fun, huh?"

"Sure," she agreed.

If anything, the next hour passed even more quickly than had the preceding. Sometimes they worked in comfortable silence, but more often than not they carried on a very pleasant conversation. Amelia told him everything she'd learned about the Goa'uld and the Tok'ra while he'd been gone, which was, surprisingly, a lot more than he'd expected them to tell her. This made him feel a little more comfortable about divulging other sorts of information, so as they worked, Jonas told her stories about the various planets the artifacts had come from, or things that had befallen the team on those planets, or some of his ideas about the cultures that had left them behind. She was a ready listener, a quick observer, and had many interesting questions.

"This is really helpful of you, thanks," he said, when he'd observed how quickly they were getting through the artifacts. "It would have taken me much longer on my own. Of course, we're going offworld again tomorrow, so... with any luck I'll have a whole new load to go through when we get back."

"I didn't realize you were going offworld again so soon," she commented, picking up a photograph of the Ancient obelisk from PX3-651 and studying it with interest.

"Yup," said Jonas. "P9X-391," he said dramatically. "It's one of the planets from the Ancient database that Colonel O'Neill gave us. We usually get pretty excited about those." He held out his hand for the photograph and she passed it over compliantly.

Amelia lifted the camera, took a picture of the Goa'uld head ornament that Jonas was taking notes on, and frowned. "One of the planets that Colonel O'Neill... _gave _you?" she repeated in confusion.

"Actually, that's a really long story," he said. "One of many before my time."

"It certainly sounds... interesting," she agreed. "Maybe someday you'll be able to tell me about it, hmmn?"

"Maybe."

"What's so special about them?" she asked. "I mean, why do you get excited to go there?"

"Because it's almost a pretty sure thing that these planets are ones that the Goa'uld have never discovered," Jonas said knowingly. "In other words, any technology or useful information we retrieve could be a surprise advantage against them."

"Gotcha."

Jonas looked up at the clock. "Wow," he said amazedly. "Amelia, didn't you say you were due for a checkup with Doctor Fraiser today?"

Amelia's head shot up to study the clock's hands as well. "Shoot!" she cried, setting the camera down on the table and getting up from her chair in one quick motion. She scrambled to the other side of the room towards her violin and music, still lying where she'd left them.

"Hey, don't worry about that. I'll get those for you," he said. "Just go."

Amelia glanced uncertainly between Jonas and the instrument for a moment before nodding. "Thanks. "I'll see you around." Then she dashed off.

Jonas watched the door for a long moment after she'd left, surprised at how empty the room suddenly felt.

* * *

Amelia's night began well, but the earliest hours brought discomfort. She recognized it all too well—a painful swelling in her abdomen that signified a fluid buildup. Yet another lovely calling card of liver cancer. Around eight or so, she managed to struggle out of bed and into some clothes, then headed to the infirmary to see if Doctor Fraiser was around to give her some medicine.

While she was in the infirmary, the eternal klaxons signaled an incoming wormhole. She'd just walked out the door, however, nicely medicated, when something new came over the loudspeaker.

_"This is Hammond. I want a Class One security lockdown of the base. As of now. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."_

In the end, it was probably for the best that she spent the rest of the morning and afternoon asleep in her quarters, because she would have been stuck there anyway. She was still in bed, in fact, when a polite but firm knock finally induced her to rise.

The medication had helped, but it was still awkward to move. She put on a loose robe and answered the door.

"Amelia," said Lieutenant Grogan, nodding slightly from the other side. "I'm sorry to wake you, but the Tok'ra have arrived. Doctor Fraiser wondered if you were up to visiting the infirmary again for a little while."

"Sure," she said. "Just let me get changed. I'll be right there." Before her departure, she took note of the time. Almost three o'clock. She wondered that she'd been able to sleep so long.

Doctor Fraiser and Malek were the first people she saw when she arrived, talking quietly with one another at the foot of one of the infirmary beds.

"I'm here," she said, stepping fully into the room. They both turned around.

"Amelia Kinsey," said Malek politely. "It is good to see you again."

"Malek has returned with encouraging news, Amelia," said Doctor Fraiser. "His refined version of the Tretonin is ready." As she spoke, she gestured behind her, where a nurse was labeling a tray of vials full of a clear, purple-colored liquid.

"We are ready to begin treatment," said Malek. "That is," he added, "provided you are still willing?" He peered at her closely.

Amelia nodded. "Of course."

Doctor Fraiser drew the privacy curtain to allow Amelia to change into a hospital gown. When she'd finished, she sat on one of the beds while Doctor Fraiser began assembling all her monitors. Amelia's eye fell on the nurse who was labeling the Tretonin, and she studied her work with interest. "So this is what it looks like?" she asked, looking at the purple vials.

Malek picked one up and handed it to her. "Yes."

Amelia studied it. "How do I take it?" she asked Doctor Fraiser.

"Intravenously," the doctor replied, and held up a ready I.V.

"Well, that's nothing new," Amelia muttered.

"These are finished, Doctor," the nurse said, putting the last of the Tretonin back on the tray and looking at Doctor Fraiser expectantly.

"Good," said Doctor Fraiser. "Lock them in storage. Sergeant," she added, gesturing to one of two guards who were standing by the door.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

The nurse accepted a key from Doctor Fraiser and carefully picked up the tray. She and her airman escort headed for the door, while Doctor Fraiser returned once more to Amelia. "Now," she said, "as you know, we don't have any precedent for this treatment, so we're going to have to design one systematically. Malek believes we should begin with very small doses, to study the effects and—"

Suddenly, there was a loud scream accompanied by a resounding crash from just outside in the hallway. Amelia jumped a couple of inches, and she, Malek, and Doctor Fraiser turned as one to the door where the nurse and the sergeant had just disappeared. Doctor Fraiser wasted no time rushing forward. "What happened?" she asked. Amelia and Malek followed a bit more calmly in her wake.

"Some kind of slug or something," she heard the nurse say, breathlessly. "It came from nowhere! Scared me to death. Oh, Doctor, I'm so sorry!"

Amelia craned her neck to see around Malek, who was a good four inches taller than her. Her eyes widened in horror. The tray had fallen to the concrete floor below. Every vial was smashed, and there was a dark, purple-gray puddle on the floor that was beginning to run in little rivulets further down the hallway. The front of the nurse's formerly immaculate uniform now looked as if it'd been dipped in Easter egg dye.

"I saw it too," the airman said, looking wildly around. "It disappeared again. Went right into the wall there," he pointed. One hand was reflexively gripping his sidearm.

Doctor Fraiser was gingerly trying to avoid crunching on the glass as much as possible. "Come inside, both of you," she said, tugging the nurse's sleeve at the same she warded off Amelia and Malek with a firm gesture. "Let's get you cleaned up and try to figure out what happened."

Amelia retreated once more to her seat on the bed, trying to stay out of the way as Doctor Fraiser called for a medical cleanup over the loudspeaker, then called somewhere else requesting both General Hammond and Major Carter, then bustled about, tending to a few tiny cuts that both the nurse and the sergeant had suffered from the shattering glass.

"It is most unfortunate about the Tretonin," Malek commented, frowning from where he'd been standing at her side.

"It wasn't her fault," Amelia said. "Besides, we still have this one." She held up the single vial helpfully, which she'd still been holding on to.

"I am not blaming Lieutenant Rush," Malek said. Abruptly, Amelia realized that must be the nurse's name. "But the production of Tretonin is not a speedy process. We used many of our resources creating that batch for this experiment. It will take some time to regenerate enough byproducts to create more."

"Oh." Amelia looked less optimistically at the Tretonin in her hand. "Will this help, though?"

"It will help, but to what extent I am unsure. Doctor Fraiser has apprised me of the details of your condition, and it is very severe. I am uncertain how much of an effect this dose of Tretonin will have."

"I guess we'll find out," Amelia said.

Meanwhile, Doctor Fraiser had been further questioning Lieutenant Rush about what she'd seen. "It was a slug," the woman repeated. She seemed much calmer now, and more concerned about having dropped the Tretonin than about seeing weird bugs. "Green, with blue and yellow spots."

"It slithered out of the wall, then glided along the wall toward the floor, diagonally, then disappeared into the wall again," the sergeant added, nodding his confirmation at the nurse's story.

"Sounds kind of like the things Jonas said he was seeing earlier today," Doctor Fraiser muttered, putting her hands on her hips for a moment, looking intent.

"Jonas? What?" Amelia blurted. Doctor Fraiser turned to look at her but didn't get a chance to comment.

General Hammond and the blond woman Amelia had now surmised was the famous Major Carter arrived hurriedly in the infirmary. Just behind them was Jonas.

"General," said Doctor Fraiser in relief, "I'm so glad you're here. We've had an incident. Lieutenant Rush says she saw a—"

"A weird alien bug?" the general finished. He looked over at Major Carter.

"We've been seeing them too," she added, grimly. "First Teal'c and myself, then General Hammond, then the gate technician. The effect seems to be spreading."

"What do we do?" the doctor said. "I've examined Jonas thoroughly. There was nothing physically wrong with him, and I've got a feeling there's nothing physically wrong with the rest of you, either. I'll do exams just to be on the safe side, of course, but—"

"Do it, Doctor," Hammond ordered. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I don't want to overlook any possibility."

"We believe it has something to do with the device we brought back this morning," Jonas said, looking at Major Carter, who nodded her agreement. "We're on our way to study it more closely."

"In the meantime, I'm ordering another lockdown of the base," General Hammond said. He looked over at Malek. "I'm afraid that means you're our guest for a while, Commander. I'm sorry."

* * *

"I have never seen a device such as this." Malek leaned around the artifact, peering at it from every angle. "I'm afraid I am as ignorant as you in this case, Major. I do not believe I can be of any assistance."

"We tried removing the crystal core to power down the device, _and_ we tried removing it back to the planet it came from. Neither was effective."

"And you have translated all of this text?" Malek looked at Jonas Quinn. It was he who had determined Egeria's identity on Pangar by translating the writing in her prison.

The man shook his head uncertainly. "As much as I'm able. There's writing on the crystals, too, but it mostly seems to describe the physical type of each crystal. Nothing to give us further insight."

"We'll keep working on it. Thanks all the same, Commander," Major Carter said.

"I only wish I could do more," Malek replied.

He left them, his military escort, as always, quietly shadowing him. He truly did wish he could help them solve the mystery of the artifact, more so that he could return home than anything else. Still, he tried not to complain too much. He'd been as affected by these creatures as anyone else. He certainly did not want the effect spreading to his own people.

_Well, it's no less than the Tok'ra did to the Tau'ri during their first encounter_, Aledar pointed out.

_True._

Unsure what to do with himself, Malek proceeded to the temporary quarters he'd been assigned. The entire day had been frustrating, from his confinement to Earth to the loss of the precious tretonin—he hadn't even gotten a chance to begin Amelia Kinsey's treatment because Doctor Fraiser was caught up dealing with the effects of this crisis.

The elevator was interrupted on its downward journey and the doors opened. Malek wondered, not for the first time, whether the SGC could not be outfitted with a ring transport, but he did not betray his impatience.

At the sight of Amelia Kinsey, he repented his irritation. She smiled when she saw him. "Malek," she greeted, stepping into the elevator.

"Amelia."

She pocketed one of the SGC security cards, a rather tricky business, as the hand was also clutching a rather large brown bag. Her other hand held a medium-sized white container of some kind. "Would you hold this a second?" she asked, and held it out. Amused, he accepted it without comment. "I was just on my way back to my quarters," she continued. "I'm a little hungry, but I'm not feeling up to a crowd, so I got carry-out." She took the white container back from him.

"I am trying to be patient," he said. "Major Carter and Jonas Quinn are attempting to solve the problem, but it may be some time until they determine a solution."

"I hope they solve it soon," Amelia commented, as yet another of the strange creatures— one of the flying variety— buzzed through the elevator above their heads. "These things give me the creeps."

When the doors opened on level twenty-five, Amelia seemed surprised that Malek followed her out. "Are you staying here too?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Are you hungry? The guys at the mess gave me a whole lot more food than I can handle on my own."

Malek had already eaten, but was surprised to find himself answering an affirmative. This was partly because Aledar was quietly but insistently voting against going back to their room with nothing to do, and partly because he found this Tau'ri girl to be pleasant and interesting. Her comments regarding the social mentality of the various worlds on her planet had lingered with him over the past few days, and she had proven consistently kind to him, despite her initial misgivings. "I would be honored," he replied.

"You guys can just wait out here, right?" Amelia asked Malek's escort when she'd gotten her door open.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the soldier. They took up posts on either side of the door.

"Whew," she said after it'd closed behind them, putting her burdens down on a small table. "I hate having those guys hanging around all the time. Always makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong."

"But you do not have an escort," Malek pointed out.

She straightened. "Not now. I did the first couple of days, though. Then they gave me that card that only lets me in the places I'm allowed."

"I see."

"I know it's just protocol," she added, "but it's really difficult to carry on a conversation when you've got... lurkers." She gestured her head back toward the door and rolled her eyes.

Amelia began pulling out various foodstuffs from the bag, including several varieties of fruit, some bread, and some sauces, none of which Malek recognized. He sampled everything she offered him. Aledar was particularly fond of the taste of _peanut butter, _and he ended up eating nearly all the small supply Amelia brought.

As for Amelia, she ate slowly, mostly sipping on the soup that was in the white sealed container. At her request, he began telling her a little bit about certain planets he'd visited. At one point, Aledar demanded to be allowed to speak of his homeworld.

"Because of the particular conditions of the atmosphere," Aledar said, "the part of the planet where I was born has some of the most spectacular sunrises in the galaxy. There are seven moons, but only two can be seen all year round. They were called the mother and father of Laicha, and the other five moons their children, after which we named our five seasons. But all those stories are from the old days, before Bestet claimed Laicha as part of her dominion. She is bloodthirsty and vicious, but very beautiful and vain. She is often fond of declaring Laicha is hers because something so beautiful should belong to a god by right."

Malek could sense his host's animosity. Very few things upset Aledar as much as speaking about Bestet. It was also rare for him to talk about it to anyone like this, though Malek knew he hadn't intended to be so vocal about it at the outset. He seemed to be picking up on Malek's trust of Amelia Kinsey.

"It's kind of like Manifest Destiny," Amelia finally said thoughtfully.

"Manifest Destiny?" Aledar repeated.

"There was a civilization of humans that lived on this continent before any others. We call them Native Americans. From the time the first European explorers came from across the Atlantic Ocean, the natives were persecuted, forced to flee or hide, their entire way of live thrown into upheaval. Some years later, when America was still a young nation, pushing west, there was a mentality called Manifest Destiny, which basically said there was nothing morally wrong with forcing the natives to give up their lands and culture, because claiming this land was our God-given right." Amelia shook her head sadly. "It's one of the darker aspects of our history."

"The people of Earth believe in gods as well?" Aledar asked, confused.

Amelia smiled softly. "Some of us do. I believe in the same one as many of my people, but we all have different perceptions of him."

Aledar seemed concerned. "If the Goa'uld were ever to overcome your world, it is possible they could use this god against you. They have taken on the persona of many Tau'ri deities in the past."

Amelia said, "I suppose there are a few who might be crazy enough to fall for that, but my people are very skeptical by nature. I have a feeling we'd be a lot harder to fool nowadays. Besides, if all the Goa'uld _are_ as cruel as you claim, they'd have a hard time pulling if off. The Christian god is one of love and mercy. He does not demand loyalty, but wishes people to serve him of their own free will."

"You are right. I do not believe any Goa'uld would be capable of imitating such."

They talked a while longer on various other kinds of topics. Amelia Kinsey gave Malek a perspective on the Tau'ri he hadn't seen before—her ignorance of galactic matters meant she was forced to revert to her own experience. She confessed that her position as a Senator's daughter— a certain kind of leader on this planet—gave her an especially good background in her country's history.

A couple of hours later, a knock resounded on the door and Amelia looked up, surprise on her face. "What time is it?" she murmured to herself, but didn't seem to expect a reply.

Malek stood with her as she went to open the door. Behind it were General Hammond, Major Carter, and Jonas Quinn. "General," she said, sounding genuinely amazed. "Please come in. What—" She trailed off as the General's eyes fell on Malek.

"Excuse me, Miss Kinsey. We were looking for Commander Malek. The airmen outside told us he was here."

"What is it, General?" Malek asked, stepping forward.

"Well, we have some good news and some bad news." General Hammond looked at Major Carter, who stepped forward. "We figured out how to counter the effects of the device. You're permitted to leave the base."

Malek nodded. "That is good news. What of the other?"

Major Carter's expression deepened to one of guilt. "A few hours ago, we got a communiqué for you from the Tok'ra," she said. "Your Hessed base has been compromised. They said to tell you the Tok'ra are evacuating to the new chosen planet and that you'd know where."

"Why was I not told of this sooner?" Malek demanded.

"For security purposes, I'm not allowed to let anyone leave this base under lockdown, via _any_ means," General Hammond said, straightening. "I decided that it would be best not to tell you until the quarantine was lifted."

Warring with Malek's anger was a mourning sense of despair. So many bases in so few years had been compromised. Now Hessed. How long were they to endure this? How many Tok'ra lives had been lost in this time? "I wish to depart immediately, General," he said stiffly, choosing for the moment not to dwell on what he perceived to be a severe lack of courtesy. He turned to Amelia. "Please inform Doctor Fraiser I will return to resume our Tretonin work as soon as I can. It should not take long to reestablish ourselves on the new planet." His voice was dark as he added, "We've become experts."

* * *

Amelia and Jonas watched Malek leave with Major Carter and General Hammond. It was clear Malek was very upset. She hoped he would be all right. Alone in the hallway now with Jonas, there was an awkward silence.

"So you solved this bug thing?" she finally asked, remembering Major Carter's words.

"Oh! Yes. Here," he said, and surprised her by reaching down and taking her hand in his. "It ended up having to do with physical contact, which is why we couldn't contain it. But the same method will also reverse the effects, once we get it calibrated correctly." His hand was very warm and clean.

"You've had a busy day," Amelia noted when he released her.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head disbelievingly. "I can't believe all this started only this morning. And it isn't over yet. We still have to make sure everything's clear outside the base." He made a patient expression. "So I've got to get going."

"Well, thank you," she said. "Let me know when you have time for another lesson." Amelia had found teaching Jonas very agreeable. It was nice to have found a friend here.

He grinned. "Absolutely. General Hammond gave us some leave this morning, but that was before our artifact started creating a crisis."

Amelia laughed. "So after the mop-up work is done?"

"Maybe tomorrow."

"I look forward to it."

* * *

**A/N: **I've tried every effort to make this story stick as close to S6 canon as possible, as Amelia's story weaves in and out of Jonas's episode by episode adventures, but one thing that simply did not work (and those of you who've read the original version will know) was Jonas's flirting with Lt. Rush in the elevator. In this story, the moment simply does not happen. Timing's all wrong. ;-) However, reluctant as I was to disregard what is one of our favorite Kelownan's most endearing moments, I gave the famous Lt. Rush a cameo in this chapter. She even contributed to the plot, as I'm sure is evident! ;-)

And special thanks to **Melyanna**and **Domi Lys**, who each typed up a chapter for me. You have them to thank for this speedy update and the next!

Saché


	7. Music, Literature, and Blackmail

**CHAPTER SEVEN – **_Music, Literature, and Blackmail

* * *

_

_But do thy worst to steal thyself away,  
__For term of life thou art assured mine;  
__And life no longer than thy love will stay,  
__For it depends upon that love of thine.  
__Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,  
__When in the least of them my life hath end.  
__I see a better state to me belongs  
__Than that which on thy humour doth depend:  
__Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,  
__Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.  
__O what a happy title do I find,  
__Happy to have thy love, happy to die!_

_But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?  
__Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not._

Sonnet 92 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Agent Malcolm Barrett had always been of the opinion that some of his agents deserved Academy Awards. Certainly more so than some of the actors in the film industry who won them. Certainly Rachel Grier did.

She sat behind her desk in a neatly pressed, burgundy-colored suit, her hair piled atop her head in a manner that somehow succeeded in being perky. She gave him a very pleasant, very generic smile. "Good morning. Can I help you?"

"Agent Malcolm Barrett. I'm with the government. I wondered if I might have a moment with the Senator." He flipped open his I.D. and displayed it.

She flipped a book on her desk and ran her finger across the top of the page, tapping the pencil in her other hand against the glass surface of the desk. "You don't have an appointment," she said levelly, looking back at him. She looked very disapproving. "The Senator is a very busy man, and he's got several important interviews lined up for—"

"Please," he interrupted, wishing he could laugh. Rachel had been the one to tell him this would be an excellent window of opportunity to catch Kinsey relatively unoccupied. "It'll only be a moment."

Rachel looked over his shoulder to the man standing by the door. "Jerry," she said with over-patience.

"He's here on Fed business, Rachel," the man said apologetically. "I had no choice. He's clean," he added.

She sighed. Glaring back at Barrett once more, she pushed a button on her phone. "Senator?"

"Yes?"

"There's an Agent Malcolm Barrett here to see you. He says it'll only take a minute."

The calculative pause that followed left Barrett to wonder what sort of cogs were rapidly spinning in the manipulative Senator's head. "Show him in."

"Yes, sir." She stood up. "Follow me."

For someone who lived as affluently as Robert Kinsey, the office was surprisingly Spartan. A few pictures and degrees on the wall, a slim computer, very little furniture. Barrett took one of the two light chairs before the desk without being asked, as Kinsey shut the door behind his retreating secretary.

"Always happy to speak with the NID folks, Agent Barrett," he said, using his politician's voice. "Although I don't believe we've been introduced." He looked expectant as he took his own seat.

"We haven't," Barrett said simply. "But you seem to know a lot of my people very well, Senator. Which is funny, because, I never gave them approval to be working with you."

You had to hand it to Kinsey, Barrett decided. He certainly knew when to drop the act. His features immediately hardened. "What is this about?"

Barrett pulled a gray disk out of his pocket, placed it face down on the brightly polished wooden desktop, and slid it across to the Senator, tapping his finger on it meaningfully. "I have another copy of this, of course," he said. "But I think you'll find it's quite incriminating. Bribery, conspiracy, any number of other charges." He cleared his throat and straightened his tie casually. "All pointing straight to you, Senator."

Frowning, Kinsey popped the disk into his computer, and Barrett waited patiently while he inspected its contents. It had been very difficult compiling the information it contained, especially without blowing Rachel's cover, but Barrett had focused his attention on little else in the past few weeks.

"What is it that you want?" Kinsey finally asked. "It must be something, otherwise we wouldn't be here having this nice, private chat, would we?"

"No, we most certainly would not," Barrett agreed. "You see, Senator, the problem is, this evidence convicts _you, _but the people I'm really after are the ones you're working with. I happened to stumble across your involvement by mere happenstance." The lie fell easily from his lips. True, his goal _was _to clean up his organization, but he'd know Kinsey was somehow involved for quite a while. "As you can see, they've been very good at covering their tracks. But you must know something more than I've been able to find."

He leaned forward. "Tell me how to find these people, and you're home free, Senator."

* * *

Colonel O'Neill had been gone for three days and Jonas had enjoyed two more violin lessons by the time he made further progress with the devices from PX3-651. By then it was pretty late, and Sam had gone home for the night. So were General Hammond, Doctor Fraiser, and just about everybody else Jonas was friends with, except for Teal'c, who was kelnoriming. As such, Jonas was forced to wait until morning before sharing his discoveries with anyone.

Sam and Teal'c were eating breakfast in the commissary when he found them the next morning. "Guess what," he said eagerly, sitting down at their table. He set his notebook and papers by his elbow.

"Good morning to you too," said Sam wryly. She nodded at his notes. "What's up?" she asked, taking a bite of her pancake.

He held up a page where he'd scribbled the results of his work the previous night. "The obelisk, "he said. "The one on 651?"

"Yeah?" Sam said, with genuine interest this time. She reached over and took it from his hand. "You found something?"

"I think I know how to open it. Well, sort of."

"How?"

He opened a folder and pushed it to her. "Your connection to the Sentinel device was really helpful. I did a little bit of research about wave physics, and all that helped me to understand the text of the holocube better. The obelisk is the doorway to the mine, as we guessed, but it's activated and controlled by _this_." He pointed at the picture of the hand-held device.

"So it _is_ the key," Sam said.

"It's musical," Jonas said, eagerly. "The colors of the keys represent the pitch they create. I'm not sure what the keys underneath do," he confessed. "I haven't tried those yet."

"But how are we to use this information to open the obelisk?" Teal'c asked. "Are there not an infinite number of combinations that may be employed with this device?"

"True. I'm not sure about that yet, but that's why I wanted to try and talk to General Hammond today. The holocube _does _indicate that turning on the control console of the obelisk isn't a problem. All you have to do is turn this thing on, and—" he gestured with a hand as if he were using the hand device.

"Pick a note, any note," Sam finished.

"I'm hoping that if we can accomplish that much, we can learn more."

"Sounds good. We can talk to him today. Maybe set something up when Colonel O'Neill gets back. Did you figure out what this one does?" she asked, pointing at a picture of the headphones.

"Still working on that one too," he confessed. "By the way, did SG-8 ever find any trinium?" Jonas asked.

Sam shook her head around another bite of her breakfast. "No," she said after she swallowed. "As of now, this lead on the Ancient device is the only reason we're continuing to explore the planet. The trinium hopes have pretty much washed out at this point."

"Bummer," said Jonas. "So what's for breakfast today?" He twisted around to look back at the line. "Are they doing the blueberry waffles again anytime soon?"

"You mean you're asking _us_?" Sam asked with a laugh. She glanced curiously at Jonas's papers again and shuffled them off the top of his book. "Jonas, what are you reading?" She held up the book and looked at him with a highly amused expression.

"Oh," he said, "Amelia lent it to me. It's really good ! I'm just about done with it, though."

"Harry Potter?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Is there something wrong with that?" he asked slowly, eyeing them with confusion.

Teal'c looked nonplussed. He seemed to be much more interested in his bacon than in the subject of their conversation. Sam only laughed again. "No," she said. She flipped through the book's covers. "I'm not much of a reader, but I hear they're pretty popular."

"It's certainly more interesting than reading Doctor Fraiser's medical journals through for the third time," Jonas said.

"I can imagine," Sam said. "So...do you like her, then?"

"Amelia?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if you've gotten to know her well enough to ask to borrow books..."

"She's really nice," Jonas said. "I like her very much. Why?"

"I guess I'm a little bit curious. I know you're a pretty open-minded person, but Colonel O'Neill's right. Due to our past experience, the rest of us can't help but be kind of wary, considering her family connections."

Jonas shrugged. "Hasn't bothered me. Certainly doesn't seem to bother her." He stood up. "I'm getting something to eat."

* * *

Due to the fact that nearly the entire Tretonin supply had been lost in the accident, and that Malek had been prematurely called away the very same day, Doctor Fraiser informed Amelia that she was unwilling to begin a treatment on her own yet. "Malek said he'll be back soon. If worse comes to worst, I'd rather save the sample we have as a fallback. In the meantime, I'm going to continue your chemotherapy treatments."

Amelia had cried a long time that night.

After the first round of chemo, she hadn't felt like doing very much. Now she was beginning to recover, but _still_ didn't feel like doing very much, for her spirits were decidedly low. However, she had promised Jonas yet another violin lesson, and as she knew it was probably better she kept up some measure of activity in her life, she packed up her instrument and headed upstairs to his lab for their appointment.

When she got there, he was not alone. The big alien named Teal'c was with him, and Amelia took an almost reflexive step backwards when she first saw him. He was rather intimidating, and she'd never been so close to him before. The sound of her footfall caused the two men to look up.

"Amelia," said Jonas, smiling. He glanced at his clock. "Wow, I didn't realize it was time already." Then he looked back at her, puzzled. "What did you do to your hair?"

For the first time in days, Amelia smiled. She'd put on a new wig, this one with longer, straight, dark auburn-colored hair. It changed her whole face completely. "I thought it was time for a change," she said.

He still looked puzzled. "Then you—" he looked to Teal'c, as if for help, but receiving none looked back at Amelia.

"Chemotherapy makes you lose hair," she said simply.

Sudden clarity came rushing into Jonas's green eyes. "Right!" he said, almost overenthusiastically. "I knew that, I just… you took me by surprise. So that's not...real, then?"

"Nope," she said, setting the instrument on his worktable. "My real head looks a lot like General Hammond's or—" she glanced hesitatingly at Teal'c and stopped, blushing slightly.

The Jaffa gave a small nod of his head, and she detected amusement in his expression. "I do not believe we have formally made one another's acquaintance, Amelia Kinsey," he said.

"Really?" asked Jonas, looking up. He had been halfway finished opening a candy bar from his pocket.

"No," said Amelia. She looked at Teal'c. "I've read a lot about you, Mr. Teal'c," she said. "In the mission reports they let me read. I find it all very interesting. I'm honored to meet you."

"As am I," he replied, nodding again. "What is this device you bring?" he then asked, resting his gaze upon her violin case.

"Music," she said with a smile.

"Amelia's teaching me to play," Jonas said helpfully, though his words were muffled by his chewing.

"Jonas, is the food really _bad_ on Kelowna?" Amelia asked him with an ironic smile.

He frowned and swallowed. "No. Why?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Never mind." Snapping open the latches on the violin case, she looked back at Teal'c. "Here, I'll show you," she said.

After a few bars of a bright, lively reel, the Jaffa seemed more interested in the instrument and inclined for conversation. "I believe O'Neill favors much of this type of music," he commented. "I must confess I prefer to see it played such as this rather than merely listening to Tau'ri recordings."

Amelia studied him curiously and sat down on the nearest stool. "What sort of music do Jaffa have?" she asked.

"Music and songs are an important part of Jaffa culture," he said knowingly. "There are many songs which inspire courage and help to focus the mind before engaging in battle. There are also songs of lament for fallen warriors."

"Are there any for love as well?" Amelia asked.

"Yes."

"I didn't know you liked music so much, Teal'c," said Jonas surprisingly.

"I do not favor music as do some of my fellow Jaffa," said Teal'c. "My life has taken other paths. But I do appreciate the role it has played in the history and culture of my people." He nodded at the violin. "We do not have such instruments as these, however. Traditional Jaffa instruments are usually small and durable. The most common are those which are blown or beaten."

"Woodwinds and percussion," Amelia said, smiling.

"Indeed."

"We have something like a violin on Kelowna," Jonas said.

"Really?" Amelia asked with interest. She was finding herself enjoying this conversation immensely, surprised she'd never taken an interest in offworld music before now. It was a welcome reprieve from her gloomy disposition of the past few days. "How come you've never mentioned it?"

He shrugged. "Never thought of it, really. It's called a _vitaraung_," he said, taking the violin from Amelia. "It's shaped differently, actually closer in proportion to your dulcimer, but it's small like a violin and played with a bow. You hold it on our knee." He demonstrated by propping the violin upright on his own knee and scratching out a couple notes before handing it back to Amelia. "Bow's a lot shorter, too," he added.

"I can understand that," Amelia said thoughtfully, trying to play her violin like a vitaraung as Jonas had described. "In this position, a long bow would be a bit cumbersome. But that sounds really cool," she added. "Kind of like a cross between a violin and a cello."

"Yeah, except you can't play it standing up," Jonas said. "I never studied music on Kelowna, but I think the fingering might be totally different on a vitaraung, too."

"I'd like to see that someday," Amelia said eagerly.

A flash of sadness swept suddenly over Jonas's features and he looked at the floor awkwardly. Amelia felt like kicking herself. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"No problem," he said.

"If you will excuse me, Jonas Quinn," Teal'c said, breaking up the awkwardness to some extent. "I will leave you to your lesson."

"Thanks, Teal'c. Hey, have fun, okay? Say hi to Ry'ac for me."

"I shall. Good day, Amelia Kinsey."

"Bye, Teal'c."

When Teal'c was gone, Amelia turned to Jonas. "Who's Ry'ac?" she asked.

"His son," Jonas replied simply.

"Oh," said Amelia, taking a moment to digest this surprising tidbit of information. Not sure what to say to that, she asked, "So does it ever hurt? I mean, that Teal'c gets to go home and you can't?" She wasn't sure what possessed her to ask such a personal question, but the words seemed almost to spill out of their own accord. She winced.

Jonas didn't seem offended. "Technically, Teal'c actually can't go home either," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Chulak is deep in heavily occupied Goa'uld territory. But his family was rescued from there a long time ago and they've lived various places ever since, mostly with the other rebel Jaffa. I think Ry'ac's been traveling around with Teal'c's Master, Bra'tac, ever since his mother died."

"Do you have a family, Jonas?" Amelia asked softly.

He gave a weak smile, but it was not really a happy one. "No," he said. "I was an only child, and my parents died not long after I got out of school, within a year of each other. I was born kind of late in their lives, and totally unexpected. By that time," he said with a sigh, "I was already becoming completely devoted to my work with the government. I didn't think about much else."

"So you never married or—" Amelia trailed off.

"No. I guess I figured I had time enough for that sort of thing, you know?" He looked thoughtful. "But when I stop and think about it, maybe it was for the best. I'm not sure I would have been able to make the choice I did if I'd had such strong ties back home. I'm still amazed Teal'c was able to do it."

"Are you happy here?"

"On a day to day basis, yes. It's a fulfilling life, but I just wish my future was a little less uncertain." As he spoke, he traced the edge of the table idly with his fingers, not looking at her as he spoke. "I'm content, but I've never really felt like I belonged here. It's like I just...exist. I just live from day to day, because there's nothing else to do." He looked up. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you happy?"

His eyes were gentle and intent, the genuine concern so profound that it took Amelia by surprise. Her stomach flipped a little. _Happy?_ she asked herself.

"I think in some ways I'm in the same situation," she said slowly, trying to ignore the weird feeling she was having. "Granted, I still have my family, but I don't necessarily have my life anymore. I _was_ happy, and I think I can be again— if I survive this— but right now I'm sort of...in limbo."

"Well, the Tretonin's gonna take care of all that, right?" Jonas asked with an encouraging smile.

She returned it weakly. "Here's hoping," she said.

"I think it will work out fine, Amelia," he said earnestly. "Should we get started?"

His sudden change of subject seemed to jar her back to reality. "Oh!" she said, taking note of the instrument still clutched in her hands. "Right. Where were we?"

Jonas had been progressing remarkably well in their handful of lessons. Before long, she would have to start teaching him to read music. Perhaps she could order a couple of books online.

She had taught him first position and was well into a thorough explanation of whole steps and half steps when a young airman knocked on the door, interrupting the lesson.

"Miss Kinsey?" he asked, standing stiffly at attention. "Teal'c said I would be able to find you here."

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, lowering her hands from where she'd been shifting Jonas's fingers on the fingerboard.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"What's wrong?" she asked, taking a confused step towards him.

"Your father's been assassinated."

* * *

**A/N**: Um... not much to comment on. Believe it or not, the delay was due to the fact that I needed to sit down and find a new Sonnet for this chapter. Turns out the one I used originally I've used already for chapter five in the revision. For some reason this chapter was really hard to match.

Chapter Eight might be a bit of a delay, because I still need to type it up and there are eighteen pages. :-P

Enjoy!


	8. Intrigues

**CHAPTER EIGHT— **_Intrigues

* * *

_

_Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;  
__And that which governs me to go about  
__Doth part his function and is partly blind,  
__Seems seeing, but effectually is out;  
__For it no form delivers to the heart  
__Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch:  
__Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,  
__Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;  
__For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,  
__The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,  
__The mountain or the sea, the day or night,  
__The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature._

_Incapable of more, replete with you,  
__My most true mind thus maketh mine eye untrue._

Sonnet 113 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Washington had always seemed cold. Even though the sunshine outside was bright and pleasant, Amelia paid it little mind. Her parents' home, as always, was brimming with strangers, and she was dressed in black, presumably mourning a man who might as well have _been_ a stranger. Her mind was numb, and her body weary.

Her time at Stargate Command, though of short duration, had made far more of an impact upon her than she'd realized until she'd come home. It had been her own strange and unlikely oasis, a place where she'd dared to be happy and hopeful again. Perhaps it was because everyone at the SGC, from General Hammond to the lowliest janitor, seemed to have a great passion and fervor for their life and their work. It was something Amelia had known herself, once upon a time, and had been starting to forget.

Reality had a nasty way of crashing down upon her when she least desired it to. Less than a day after a sniper had put her father's chest through the crosshairs of his gun, Amelia had found herself back in D.C., nodding and making small talk just like the old days, except this time her father wasn't actually here to supervise.

The authorities were being very uncooperative regarding the investigation. Amelia wasn't sure exactly how to describe her feelings about her father— they were complicated to say the least— but she certainly had never wished his death. Besides that, her mother was truly and deeply grieving, and for that Amelia felt sorry. Although they'd never been close, Pamela Kinsey had always treated her three children with kindness and respect. She didn't deserve to be treated the way she was now.

First of all, the FBI refused to relinquish the body, and they wouldn't even bother trying to explain why. This meant that all funeral plans had to be put on hold, which meant Amelia and her mother had to put up with a never-ending stream of pres, socialites, and acquaintances, all of whom were either trying to be helpful or nosy, and the only person Amelia truly wanted to see had yet to arrive.

She was beginning to go a little stir crazy. When she wasn't resting, she was idling about the house stupidly, trying to think of ways to help, but distracted by the overwhelming shock of everything that had happened. If Lydia didn't get here soon she was going to have to seek some sort of reprieve. Maybe if she could get away for a couple of house she could go pick up some beginner sheet music for Jonas.

_Jonas._

Unbidden, a tiny smile formed on her lips. There was something very special about a person whose mere memory could invite happy thoughts even in not-so-bright moments. Amelia had found herself thinking more and more of him over the last few days. From her schooldays onward Amelia's infatuations had always developed with rather alarming swiftness, and this tendency had never changed of the course of seventeen years. She certainly _felt_ like a schoolgirl right now, and the more she entertained thoughts of him, the worse it got. Jonas Quinn was sensible and lively, smart, easy to talk to, and… well, he was just plain adorable. There was a boyish gawkiness he had never quite seemed to shake, which probably explained more than anything her schoolgirlish feelings.

_Oh, and don't forget he's not from your planet._

Amelia shook her head, almost amused at her own folly. Here she was at what would probably be one of many social obligations for her father's passing in the next few days, and she was mooning over a guy.

"Aunt Amelia!"

Amelia smiled broadly, and turned around with just enough time to catch the small figure that hurled into her arms before it knocked her over.

"Chloe!" The second voice belonged to Amelia's older sister, Lydia. "What have I told you about running in your grandmother's house?" She was practically on her daughter's heels. "Sweetheart," she chided more quietly when she reached them, "I told you, you can't jump around on Aunt Amelia like that. You'll make her all tired." She looked up, eyes warm, and smiled. "It's good to see you, Amelia," she said softly.

Amelia reached out with her free arm— the one that wasn't full of five-year-old girl— and gave her sister an affectionate embrace. "You too. I've missed you so much."

"Where have you been? I tried calling, but dad said you would be out of touch for a while. Before this happened, anyway," she added, wincing slightly.

"I'm sorry, Lydia. He was right, but I'm not allowed to talk about it. But you don't need to worry. I'm safe and happy. And hopefully better soon."

Lydia gave a soft smile. "I heard that too," she confessed. She sighed and looked around. "Sorry we're late. There was a security holdup at the airport."

For as long as Amelia could remember, her older sister had been her dearest and closest friend, despite the difference in their ages. Amelia had been an unexpected arrival for her parents, almost eight years younger than Lydia, and eleven years younger than their brother, John. Still, the two girls had become very close confidants. Not being able to share with Lydia the wondrous secrets of the stargate was something Amelia ha been sorry for when she'd learned how serious the need for secrecy really was.

Amelia looked around. "Where's everybody else?" she asked.

"Greg and the boys are still trying to escape the reporters," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "He hasn't yet learned to stomach just shrugging them off." As the older sister, Lydia had set a good example to Amelia about learning to lead her own life. She'd started off by marrying a registered Independent, something Amelia was certain her father had never quite recovered from. Then she'd moved to California, where she and her husband went for broke and started a non-profit charity organization for abuse victims, having four kids along the way and adopting a fifth. Chloe was their youngest, and only girl.

"Aunt Amelia, did you stay in a hotel when you went away?" the girl now asked, pulling away slightly and studying Amelia with grave concern.

Puzzled, Amelia looked at her sister.

"I'm sure she didn't, Chloe," Lydia said, gently peeling the girl from Amelia's arms and setting her on the ground. "Go find your brothers. See if Marian will take you outside to play with the horses." The girl skipped off and Lydia looked back at Amelia. "She found out about dad getting shot at from a hotel," she explained. "I'm not certain _how_, but I suspect Bobby. She's been dead scared of them ever since."

"Well, considering that's just about _all_ we know, at least there's not much danger of him telling her more," Amelia pointed out.

"They still haven't told us anything else?" Lydia asked, looking surprised.

"They've confessed there's a suspect, but they don't plan on telling us who it is until just before they tell the greater public. Apparently, he hasn't been apprehended yet. They don't want to do anything that might tip him off."

"Well, that's creepy."

"No kidding."

Lydia sighed and crossed her arms, staring out the window at the view Amelia had been contemplating for the last fifteen minutes. "It was such a shock," she said. "I mean, I knew it was always a possibility, of course. Dad was well-known and influential, but he was always so conscientious of this kind of stuff too. He had bodyguards, vests, the whole deal. Kind of ironic, I guess."

"Lydia."

The two women turned at the sound of their brother's voice. John Kinsey, the good senator's prodigy. Amelia stiffened. Her relationship with her brother was the polar opposite of her relationship with Lydia. They had never gotten along ,and had even come to very bitter heads on more than one occasion. She had little respect for the way everything in his life was only viewed as a tool to advance his political career. They had barely acknowledged on another in the last two days, although Amelia had made halfhearted attempts to converse with his wife and play with his children. He did not look at her now.

"Hello, John," Lydia said, nodding. She had always been able to maintain a civil manner towards him, much better than Amelia.

"Will you be joining us for the conference tomorrow?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. What conference?"

"The FBI called about an hour ago," he said, eyes briefly flicking to Amelia. She stomped down on a flare of annoyance. If something important had happened, had he _really_ been meaning to wait around about telling her just out of spite? "They think they'll have their man by tomorrow afternoon. They they'll fill us in." His eyes were very calculating as he spoke. As John had always been the only one that related in some measure to their father, he would probably be most affected by what had happened.

"What makes the think they'll get him?" Amelia asked, furrowing her brow.

He paused to consider her as if she were a mosquito. "Apparently, they have a good idea where he's going to be."

"How convenient."

"We'll see. I for one intend to see that this person, whoever he is, is put to very swift justice."

"Provided, of course, he's guilty," Amelia said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lydia press her lips together in disapproval. No doubt she felt this was neither the time nor the place for Amelia to bait her brother. She was probably right.

Jon seemed nonplussed. "Apparently, their evidence is conclusive," he said coolly, and took a sip from the glass he carried in his hand. "I hope you're being properly concerned about all this Amelia," he added with a glare when he'd swallowed. Then he turned heel and walked off as abruptly as he'd arrived.

Lydia put a supporting hand on Amelia's shoulder. "Don't fret over John this time, Amelia, please?" she said. "It never comes to any good."

Amelia sighed and nodded.

"So how are you feeling?" Lydia asked, changing the subject.

"Not very well," Amelia confessed. "Actually, I was just about to maybe go take a nap when you got here."

Lydia nodded, her eyes full of sympathy. "Go on. I'll see you at dinner. We can catch up then. I should really spend some time with mom right now anyway."

"Okay, I'll see you later."

Once in her old room, however, it took Amelia a while to fall asleep. Her thoughts were a muddled and paradoxical jumble— joy at seeing her sister again, her stiff and grating reunion with John, her pity for her mother's sorrow and guild and her own near lack of it, and confusing— but not necessarily unpleasant— thoughts Jonas Quinn.

* * *

"This is the video footage captured by security cameras in the hotel four days ago," said the FBI man, Agent Kyle, who had been assigned to liaise with the Kinsey family. He held up a remote and pointed it towards a small TV screen in the room where they were gathered, which was paused on a frame of a bare, empty stairwell. When he pushed a button, the scene began to move. "You can clearly see the suspect here," he said, nodding.

A man walked into view down the stairs. When he turned around, Amelia suddenly felt every drop of blood in her veins turn to ice. She drew in a soft gasp, and Lydia glanced at her oddly.

_It can't be._

"Who is he?" John demanded, leaning forward in his seat and staring at the image, which Agent Kyle had once again paused.

"His name is Colonel Jack O'Neill," said Agent Kyle. "He's currently serving with the Air Force in Colorado under a General George Hammond." Amelia swallowed. This couldn't be happening! And yet there was no denying the image on the screen. But how? "As we anticipated," continued Agent Kyle, "Colonel O'Neill was apprehended yesterday when returning to the base after a personal leave. He is currently being detained in Colorado and will be flown to Washington this evening."

"An Air Force officer?" John echoed. Even he looked surprised. "What motivation would he have to kill my father?"

"Apparently, he and Senator Kinsey had met on a few occasions," Agent Kyle said. "Something to do with the nature of Colonel O'Neill's work, but that information is classified. Even I don't know all the details." Amelia stared at the floor, unmoving.

"I've seen that man," spoke up Amelia's mother. She looked intently at the image still frozen on the screen. "He came to the house once a couple of years ago. I don't think Bob was very pleased to see him," she added hesitatingly, looking around.

"Well, I don't care two flaming hells about classification," John said, glaring back at Agent Kyle. "I want to know everything there is to know about this man, what he does, how he knew about my father, everything."

"I'm afraid that just won't be possible, Representative Kinsey," said Agent Kyle, turning off the TV set with another wave of his remote. He looked dispassionately back at John as he spoke, and Amelia took some satisfaction at seeing her brother's resulting frustration. "However," Agent Kyle continued, gathering his papers together, "I assure you that in this case, there will be no need to establish a motive. The body of evidence alone is more than sufficient."

This seemed to satiate John. He sat back down again, a grim but satisfied set to his mouth. His wife, Pauline, gave a bored sigh and studied her fingernails. Lydia's husband, Greg, reached out and squeezed his wife's hand comfortingly and Amelia continued staring at the floor.

The image of Colonel O'Neill in the stairwell continued to haunt her for the remainder of the day. It didn't make any kind of sense. From everything she'd heard— all the stories she'd picked up at the SGC— Colonel O'Neill was one of America's greatest heroes, albeit most unsung. He'd saved the world upon more than one occasion, and everyone at the base hailed him as devoted, selfless, and honorable man.

Was it possible he'd been framed? The evidence was certainly compelling, but in the last few weeks Amelia had learned a lot about just how deceptive appearances could really be, and how deep secrets could go. For one thing, she was pretty sure Colonel O'Neill was much smarter and experienced than too allow himself to be so blithely caught on a security camera.

She thought about the encounter she'd witnessed between her father and the Colonel— which was also the only time she'd actually met the Colonel in any substantial sense; all other times had only been mere glimpses of him around the complex. Certainly there had been a lot of tension there. It was clear the Colonel hadn't cared two straws for her father, and her father had more or less returned the sentiment.

All in all, the situation was most confusing and unsettling. Amelia had no idea what to believe, and somehow she felt a hundred times more saddened by the Colonel's involvement than she'd felt upon the news of her father's death. Guilty or innocent, if Colonel O'Neill was convicted of this assassination, he too would be dead— in a completely different sense than Amelia's father, but one that seemed somehow more grievous. The worst of it was the feeling of extreme guilt Amelia was feeling. How could she be more concerned about Colonel O'Neill's innocence than her own father's death? It didn't make any sense, and she despised herself for it.

Amelia's thoughts now wandered often to the SGC. She could only imagine what a ruckus all this had caused there.

* * *

During the events surrounding Jonas's defection to Earth, Colonel O'Neill's influence had been largely responsible for Jonas's decision, but it hadn't been the only contributor. The truth was, those few days had been a dark and haunting time for Jonas. Struggling with the knowledge of the truth, unsure how to correct an injustice, he had probably never felt more alone in his entire life. When the Colonel had come, though, he had given Jonas two things: strengthened conviction to do the right thing and a way out. A course of action. Earth's request for naquadria had been something substantial— something Jonas had been able to act upon.

As it had been then, he was now suffering from a similar mounting frustration. It just didn't seem right that they had, in their very hands, at _least_ enough proof to give the Colonel a fighting chance, and they were perfectly helpless to use it. The injustice ate at him in the worst way. This planet, even the people who had done his, owed the Colonel so much. It didn't make any kind of sense.

This time, it was General Hammond who had provided the means of relief. Jonas knew that in requesting them to get to the bottom of the situation, the General was walking a very fine line of authority, but Jonas was grateful. He knew that if he, Teal'c, and Sam were forced to sit by and do nothing, they'd probably all go crazy.

A stack of paperwork in hand, Jonas stepped off the elevator at sublevel twenty-one and the medical rooms. To his satisfaction, he found Doctor Fraiser making her way through a stack of paperwork at her desk when he reached her office. She looked up when he knocked on the wall outside her door. "Jonas," she said, "how is your search going?"

He made a light fist with his hand and leaned against the doorjamb. "Teal'c and I think we may be onto something," he said, "but I need to ask you a question."

"Certainly," Doctor Fraiser said, closing the file she'd been reading and setting it aside. "What do you need?"

He stepped into her office, pulled the top folder off of his stack, and handed it to her. "This is the information we were able to find on a Doctor Brett Langham," he said as she opened it. "He was one of the scientists working on the mimic devices from the foothold situation a few years ago."

Doctor Fraiser looked up sharply. "You know about that?" she demanded.

"General Hammond authorized my clearance, yes," Jonas said, nodding. "I understand you were very much involved, Doctor."

"I don't like to think about it," she said, an edge of bitterness in her voice. She did not look up. "The things that other… woman did, pretending to be me. It makes me feel sick."

Jonas was unsure exactly what she was talking about, so didn't comment further. "We believe the mimic devices were used to frame Colonel O'Neill for Senator Kinsey's murder."

She nodded. "I had wondered about that myself," she said quietly. "This man is dead," she observed, still reading through the file.

"Yes. As Teal'c points out, a most peculiar coincidence."

"So what is it you need me for?" she asked.

"The file says he had epilepsy."

Doctor Fraiser was scrutinizing the data more intently now. "I see what you're saying," she said after a moment. "You're right. This information doesn't make sense. There should have been data recovered in the autopsy that pointed to his disease."

"That's what I was wondering about, but I wasn't sure."

"So you think he might not really be dead." It was not a question.

"Exactly. Thank you, Doctor."

"I'm happy to help, Jonas."

"Would you be able to assist us in briefing General Hammond about our findings? He'll want to know how we're coming along."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. In fact, let me know any other way I can help from here on out. I'm as anxious to help the Colonel as anyone."

"I appreciate it." He looked down, and the file Doctor Fraiser had been perusing before he'd come caught his eye. "I wonder how Amelia is handling all this," he said aloud, nodding at the file.

"I imagine this is awkward for her."

"How is she doing, Doctor?" he asked concernedly. "I mean, as far as her illness."

Doctor Fraiser was very quiet for a long moment. "Not very well," she said at last. "I'm becoming more and more concerned over the Tok'ra delay."

"But they left you the Tretonin, right?"

"What little survived the accident, yes." Doctor Fraiser looked regretful.

"Why not just use it?"

"I've considered it. It's a tricky situation. If I don't give it to her, she'll almost certainly die within three months or so. Frankly, I'm surprised she's still on her feet. But if I give it to her, there's a chance something could be flawed with the drug. She could become dependent, which would _also_ lead to her death without intervention, and what if the Tok'ra continue to be delayed?" She sighed. "I'm having trouble deciding what to do."

Jonas cocked his head thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, Amelia would be willing to take the risk."

"I agree. The chemotherapy seems particularly hard on her."

"Chemotherapy?" Jonas repeated. "I was under the impression she'd been able to vie that up because she was undergoing the Tretonin treatment."

"I put her back on a regimen, hopefully to stall the progression of the cancer as much as possible, but I don't know how much time it's really going to buy her at this point. Chemo makes the body very weak."

"Then maybe when she comes back you should just stop." Doctor Fraiser gave him a scrutinizing look, and Jonas flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I know I shouldn't be trying to tell you how to do your job. It's just that, Amelia's my friend. I hate that she's having to go through all of this, you know?"

"I hate it too, Jonas." Doctor Fraiser sighed. "Maybe you're right." Her expression darkened. "What's irritating me most right now is that she's _gone_. The longer she's stuck in Washington, the longer I can't monitor her."

Jonas smiled. It was almost scary how commanding a presence Doctor Fraiser could become in matters concerning her patients. "In that case, I hope she'll be back very soon. I for one just miss having her around. She's fun to talk to."

"She is a very pleasant girl," Doctor Fraiser agreed, rising to her feet. "When was that meeting with General Hammond?" She handed him back the file on Brett Langham.

"Oh, I, uh—" Jonas accepted it, placing it once more with his notes. "I actually hadn't decided that yet. I'm sure he'll want to convene as soon as possible," he said, "so we should be ready fairly soon."

"Okay. I'll just be making a couple of rounds in the infirmary. Page me when you need me."

"I will."

* * *

Amelia's heart was pounding a little as she picked up the phone, although she wasn't quite sure what was making her nervous. She referenced a mobile number she'd written down on a piece of scratch paper and quickly tapped it into the phone with her thumb.

"Lionel Kyle speaking," came a voice after a couple of rings.

"Yes, Agent Kyle, this is Amelia Kinsey."

"Miss Kinsey," he acknowledged. "What can I do for you?"

"You said that Colonel O'Neill would have been flown to Washington by this time, didn't you?"

"I believe they landed about five hours ago, yes."

"Would I be allowed to see him?"

"I'm afraid that isn't advisable, Miss Kinsey. These matters need to be handled very delicately. It is best if you just let your attorney deal with the Colonel's attorney. Take my word for it. I've already been over this with your brother."

Amelia scowled, but tried to keep the sourness out of her voice. "I am acting independently of my brother, Agent Kyle," she said quietly. "Are you sure there's something you can't arrange? I just...kind of want to see him. I promise you, I'm perfectly content in letting the justice system pervade otherwise. Or is it for _my _safety?" she asked appraisingly. She raised her eyebrows, although of course Agent Kyle would not be able to see that.

He paused a long while then sighed. "No, the prisoner doesn't seem to be a threat at the moment. Very well, I'll let you see him, but just this once. And for heaven's sake don't _tell_ anyone."

"Thank you, Agent Kyle," Amelia said. After he gave her directions, she was quick to hang up, lest he change his mind. Then she got dressed and left the house as quietly as possible. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be driving, but at the moment she really didn't care. This was something she felt compelled to do, and if she had someone drive her, the secrecy would be forfeit.

She arrived at the holding compound – a nondescript building a couple of streets from the Pentagon – and found Agent Kyle waiting for her. "Come this way," he said without preamble when she'd gotten out of her car. He led her silently through two or three security checkpoints before they reached a series of isolation cells. About halfway down they found Colonel O'Neill, dressed in drab, grey prison gear, his hands bound. "You have five minutes," Agent Kyle said, and retreated to the far end of the hallway.

Amelia swallowed. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say. She didn't bother looking for security cameras; she knew they were there. She couldn't give any indication that she already knew the Colonel, or it would certainly raise a few eyebrows.

"Miss Kinsey," said the Colonel quietly, nodding. "They told me you were coming. What can I do for you?"

She stared at him, her eyes full of questions she wondered if he would understand. "I was curious," she said at last. The statement was short and simple, but heavy with meaning. He looked thoughtful for a long time. Then he shifted, and leaned forward to stare at her intently, though he remained sitting. "I didn't kill your father, Miss Kinsey," he said slowly. "I think you should know that ... not everything is always as it appears."

_You know about the Stargate. You know that this goes much deeper._

A sudden peace flooded through Amelia at his words. There was something in his eyes, his voice, that told her what she'd partially suspected. He knew, at least to some extent, what might be going on here. She did not look at him for a moment, pondering his words and how to convey to him that she understood. She didn't want to nod or give any other indication that she believed this statement. As far as the FBI was aware, she had no possible reason to doubt Colonel O'Neill's guilt.

At least she said," My father often spoke of his faith in God, Colonel." She tried to make her voice dispassionate, but she made no effort to hide what she was trying to communicate with her eyes. "I too have a faith of sorts," she said, " but it is different than my father's was." Of all things Amelia had disrespected about her father, his hypocrisy had been the worst. "I think sometimes he believed he was God's mouthpiece—" here she made a face that betrayed just how she felt about_ that_ subject, "— but that doesn't matter now. The point is, truth and justice are ultimately in the Lord's hands, and I believe that in this case, justice will be..._ appropriately_ served."

The Colonel's expression was unreadable, but they continued to stare at one another a little while longer. At last, though she might later dismiss it as a figure of her desperate imagination, she thought she saw him give the smallest discernable nod. He sat back again. "Was there anything else you wanted, Miss Kinsey?" he asked meaningfully, raising his eyebrows.

"No," she said, then called," Agent Kyle!" Agent Kyle returned from the far end and looked at her expectantly. "I'm done here," she said quietly. "Thank you." Without looking at Colonel O'Neill again, she silently followed Agent Kyle back out of the building, deep in thoughts the whole way.

She felt scared and lost, and more than a little upset with herself. How could she be so blindly trusting? Was she just fooling herself because she_ wanted_ Colonel O'Neill to be innocent? She replayed the whole scene at the prison cell over and over in her mind, concentrating on any detail, any memory that might prove she was being a silly, naïve girl and ignoring all the laws of common sense.

_Nothing makes sense anymore. Your_ father_ is dead, and this is all you can think about?_

Eventually, she took her nephews out riding to help distract her from her own rampaging thoughts. This was a successful plan, because as Lydia's boys tended to be very active in general, they required a good deal of supervision when they were all doing something as involved as horseback riding at the same time. There was another benefit as well. By the time they returned to the house for the evening, Amelia had just enough energy to eat a light meal and collapse into bed. Perhaps she should not have worn herself out so much today, but the resulting dreamless sleep was most welcome.

* * *

Malcolm Barrett was tired, both physically and mentally. Although he knew he was in pretty good shape, he was still more accustomed to working from his desk than chasing bad guys, jumping out of the way of explosions, and running all over Washington D.C. like a madman. It was wearying, almost as much as had been the mental debate between himself and Major Carter.

He envied her. She had been correct – the attitude of absolute trust she had in her teammates was something he was not familiar with and something he probably never could be. But it had been almost thrilling, for a moment, to take that leap of blind faith. There were people who definitely wouldn't have approved of him disclosing that Kinsey was really alive, but he found he didn't regret it.

Since it wouldn't do to widely spread among more knowledgeable people the fact that Major Carter was in Washington, Barrett had suggested she wait around at the hotel while he worked with the FBI and a few other people to arrange Colonel O'Neill's release. As matters were now in the hands of bureaucracy, this took far longer than he would have liked, but at long last he returned with the Colonel in tow.

"Sir," Major Carter greeted O'Neill with a big grin. "It is_ really_ good to see you."

"Carter," he said with a nod, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "I hear you've been having all the fun without me."

"Yes, sir."

"I understand, too, that I owe you a lot."

She grinned again. "My pleasure, sir. Jonas and Teal'c helped a lot, too. And Agent Barrett," she added, nodding gratefully.

"So I hear," O'Neill commented, giving his own nod, which Barrett returned. Then the Colonel sighed. "Although, of_ course_ Kinsey wouldn't really be dead, would he ?" he said with a touch of mock regret.

"Colonel,_ please_ don't say anything like that again for the next few... years," Barrett pleaded from the doorway. "The situation is still very delicate. Senator Kinsey only woke up from the coma a couple of hours ago. We're putting together a cover story now, but I'm afraid we're going to need your cooperation to pull it off. Keep your schedule open for tomorrow."

"Right," O'Neill said. He looked at the major. "Carter, cancel all my appointments," he added as he turned back to Sam and took a seat in one of the room's two chairs. He propped his feet up on the table. "So...tell me what happened."

As succinctly as possible, Major Carter relayed to her C.O. the course of the investigation, both from her end and what the rest of SG-1 had been able to accomplish. Barrett mostly listened, admiring and envying the camaraderie between the two teammates. "Frankly, sir," she finally concluded when she'd finished the tale, "I wouldn't be surprised if this thing goes a lot deeper." Her eyes flicked briefly to Barrett at these words. He did not comment.

"Yes, yes, you're probably right," O'Neill said, also glancing his way. Then he rubbed his eyes and waving a careless hand at her. "But I really don't want to think about it tonight, okay, Carter?"

"Yes, sir."

"I had the strangest visitor today," the Colonel said then, an odd tone in his voice. He was staring at the tabletop, deep in thought.

"Yeah?" Major Carter replied.

"Amelia Kinsey, can you believe that?"

Barrett blinked, surprised, suddenly remembering the connection that the senator's daughter now had with the Stargate program. "Really?" he blurted. "Why?" Major Carter looked uncertainly between the two men. "I know about the Tretonin thing," he was quick to assure her.

"Honestly, I'm not sure what she was doing," O'Neill confessed. "She kind of caught me off guard."

"How so, sir?"

"Well...for starters, what's up with her hair? For a second she was giving me nightmares of Hathor."

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Sam said slowly, giving him a very puzzled expression. Barrett was equally as puzzled.

"Hathor? Hair? Red? Straight?" Jack asked, with look that said this should be plainly obvious. He reached out for his shoe and began to retie the lace. "It was_ really_ scary," he added.

"Did she say anything?" Barrett pressed. He wasn't sure why this news concerned him.

Colonel O'Neill put his feet on the floor and sighed. "Well, we couldn't exactly have a very forthcoming conversation," he said wryly, "but she made it clear that she was having some conflicting feelings about my guilt. I think she came to check me out for herself. I told her I didn't do it."

"Do you think she believed you?"

"That's the really weird part," he said, sitting up straighter and looking intently at Major Carter. "I think she did. The whole time, too, she never once gave away she knew me. Despite her—" he made a face and waved his hand around his head "—obnoxious hair, that girl has some surprising subtleties."

"Well, she_ is_ Kinsey's daughter," Barrett pointed out. "She must have picked up a few things in her lifetime."

"Well, knowing a little bit about your history with the Stargate program, sir, she was probably as confused as the rest of us," Carter added.

O'Neill gave a small smile. "Well, thank you Carter." The smile reached his eyes. "Hell, maybe Jonas was right after all."

"Major Carter raised her eyebrows. "Jonas, sir?"

"I shouldn't necessarily judge Miss Kinsey by her family connections," he said, in a drab, deliberate sort of voice that made it clear this confession was given less than willingly. He looked at her sharply. "And don't_ ever_ tell him I said that, Major," he added.

Barrett listened to their conversation without further comment, pondering their words and everything he and Major Carter had debated the past couple of days about trust. He was wondering if he should tell them about the conspiracy to use Amelia Kinsey to access Tretonin. He'd had no further leads on the particular matter since that first mysterious phone call, and he could only hope that apprehending those men today had shut the lid on it. One of them had been the CFO of a company highly involved in pharmaceuticals.

His phone rang, a message from one of his agents. "It's probably time to get going," he said, closing his phone when he'd finished and pocketing it. "There's a lot of paperwork and other hateful stuff to take care of, and not much time to do it in. I have to get back." He looked at Carter. "Major, if you'd care to wait around another couple of days, I'd be happy to arrange that you return to Colorado along with the Colonel."

"I'm certain that'd be fine, Agent Barrett. Thank you."

"Well, then, let's get a move on. We've got an American public to dupe."

Before he and Colonel O'Neill left the room, Barrett had made up his mind. He wouldn't tell the SGC about the plot, at least not yet. As it was, Rachel had been given an unexpected and brilliant opportunity to get more information on Kinsey. He could at least wait and see what came of it.

* * *

The Kinsey home was full of the sounds of celebration.

When the family had been told the news that the Senator was actually still alive, there had been a variety of amazed reactions. For her part, Amelia hadn't been able to register much but shock so far.

"Okay, here we go," her father called out over the din of clinking glasses and well-wishers that was gathered in the den. "Turn it up Louie," he called to one of his friends— a big time CEO from New York that had pulled Amelia's hair when she was little. The gentleman in question, who was closest to the TV set, idly reached over and pushed the volume.

"—ocking news today, Senator Kinsey was revealed to be alive and well, recovering from a gunshot wound in a private hospital, while the FBI used his assumed death as a cover story to aide in an investigation," said the reporter's voiceover. The screen showed the front of the hospital where her father had been closeted away for the past few days. Her father and Colonel O'Neill, as well as members of her father's staff and security were gathered around a podium set just in front of the doorway.

"First of all," said the figure of her father on the TV screen, "I want to apologize to you and to the American people for the deception surrounding my untimely demise."

"It was an unfortunate but necessary final step in my investigation of certain anti-democratic forces that had taken root in several key government agencies. The ringleaders of this conspiracy have now been taken into custody." At these words, the people gathered in the den began to applaud, but Amelia's father only smiled and help up a hand, indicating that they should wait.

"Of course," he continued on the TV, laughing a little, "taking a bullet was not part of my original plan in bringing these men down, but the success of the operation was well worth any personal sacrifice on my part, and I want the American people to know that, if elected, I intend to bring that same...determination and zeal for justice with me to the White House."

Amelia standing quietly in the back of the room, rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile a little. It was almost funny what a consummate politician her father really was. She hoped she would be able to get away from Washington as soon as possible. His fervor for the presidency was clearly going to escalate because of this, and become more exasperating than ever.

"I would also like to thank Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force for the vital role he played in my investigation. I can't go into details for reasons of national security, but I can assure you all that any evidence pointing to the Colonel as my would-be assassin was simply part of the operation. Colonel?"

The two men shook hands, and Amelia studied Colonel O'Neill's face carefully. His expression was blank and unreadable. She supposed most people would just assume he was being formal, but she wasn't so sure. She didn't have time to analyze the expression further, though, because the reporter started speaking again and the news program was moving on. The applause around the room became loud and enthusiastic now, and her father was beaming and shaking hands all around.

Feeling overly warm, Amelia slipped out of the room and headed upstairs to her room. Once in the darkened hallway, she nearly ran headlong into a strange woman, probably a couple of years older than she was, thin, and pretty, looking a little lost. She was coming from the direction of the study.

"Can I help you?" Amelia asked, puzzled.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, flustered. She laughed slightly. "I had to use the bathroom but the one downstairs is so busy. Mrs. Kinsey said I could come up here."

Amelia glanced in the opposite direction. "It's that way," she said helpfully.

"Thanks," the woman replied. "Got kind of misdirected."

"Rachel?" Both women turned around to see Amelia's father just coming up the stairs as well. He seemed more surprised than Amelia to see the woman here.

"Senator," said the woman respectfully.

"What are you doing up here?"

The woman looked embarrassed. "Bathroom," she explained, pointing meaningfully in the direction Amelia had gestured.

"Aha. Amelia, this is my secretary, Rachel Grier. Rachel, my daughter."

"Nice to meet you," Amelia said, shaking the woman's hand. "Don't let us keep you," she added with a smile.

Rachel coughed and offered a small smile. "Thanks," she said. "It was nice to meet you too."

Father and daughter watched her retreat, then Kinsey pulled Amelia quietly into the nearest bedroom. "I thought maybe you were going to bed," he said. "I wanted to get a chance to talk with you. Tell me how things are going at the SGC. Have they begun treatment?"

Amelia explained to him the basics of the situation. He did not seem overly pleased with the delay in her treatment, but didn't dwell too long on it.

"Well, the other reason I needed to talk with you tonight is that there's a private jet taking Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter back to Colorado tomorrow morning. I'd like you to get back there as soon as possible, so you'll be permitted to go with them."

Amelia raised her eyebrows. _That _would be an interesting flight. Still, she did not argue the point. She'd been thinking about her return to the SGC all afternoon, and was pleased to find it would be so unexpectedly soon.

Her father was impatient to return to his guests, so the interview didn't last very long. Amelia retrieved a book from her bedroom, then went back to the kitchen and out the door to the expensive tile patio that wrapped around much of the mansion's rear entryway. With a sigh, she sat down in a lounge chair and lay her head back against it, closing her eyes and smiling in appreciation at the warm, soft breeze that touched her face.

A moment after she opened the book and began reading, something wet and sniffly invaded the palm of her hand, which was draped over the edge of the chair. Laughing, she cocked one eye open to see Oscar, her father's dog, looking expectantly up at her with big brown eyes. "Hey, boy," she said with a smile, scruffing him behind the ears. "Everybody left you out here alone, huh?" The dog panted pleasurably at her attention.

As she petted the aging animal, Amelia's thoughts were once more caught up in the day's crazy turn of events. She was glad her father was alive, but the whole experience had left her more confused about her feelings towards him than ever. She had not mourned him, yet now she was relieved he was not dead. How did that make sense?

"Oscar," she said to the dog, "I think an affection for you and mom is just about the only thing dad and I have in common," she informed him knowingly. Perhaps that was all there was to it. She couldn't say she loved her father. Sometimes she was pretty sure she didn't even respect him, yet she held no bitterness against him as she did with John. Maybe because, although he had never been the most_ devoted_ father, his love for Amelia's mother was real, and he'd always done right by his family – seeing to it that they were provided for, even before they'd accumulated the wealth they now enjoyed. John did not seem to share this sense of obligation. Sometimes Amelia wasn't sure he was aware his son and daughter existed.

She sat there, caressing Oscar's silky ears for a long time, thinking and mulling and pondering the whole situation thoroughly. In the end she came to some very simple conclusions. She had not mourned her father because it had felt like the death of a stranger. Neither had she received any pleasure in his "death" because she held no bitterness against him. As for her relief at the truth, that was humanitarian more than anything else. Despite everything, she didn't really think her father deserved to be shot.

Eventually, Lydia tracked her down and the two sisters sat out on the patio long into the evening, and by the time they retreated upstairs for bed, she was in a very good mood. Amelia had very much enjoyed their conversation, although she found herself wishing she could have told her sister every silly little detail about Jonas, which was something she'd always tended to do with her crushes. But of course then she would have had to explain how she'd_ met_ him, and in the end it had been safer not to broach the subject.

The thought of Jonas brought a smile to her face as she settled down to read, and made it hard to concentrate on the words. Eventually, she turned out the light and snuggled into her covers, giving a contented sigh._ Tomorrow_, she thought with a smile. Tomorrow she would return.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, folks. There it is. The longest chapter of the story, with my compliments. :-)

Great news, I got a bit more of the sequel done today. I may try and work on it some more tonight too. (grin)


	9. Realizations

**CHAPTER NINE - **_Realizations_

**

* * *

**

_Love is too young to know what conscience is,  
__Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?  
__Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,  
__Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:  
__For, thou betraying me, I do betray  
__My nobler part to my gross body's treason;  
__My soul doth tell my body that he may  
__Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,  
__But rising at thy name doth point out thee,  
__As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,  
__He is contented thy poor drudge to be,  
__To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side._

_No want of conscience hold it that I call  
__Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. _

Sonnet 151 by William Shakespeare

* * *

"Jonas, have you just about got that thing figured out?" 

At the sound of Colonel O'Neill's voice, Jonas turned to see the other man craning his neck, looking up at the sky through the trees speculatively. "It looks like rain," the Colonel continued. He looked at Jonas. "And I don't know about you, but I don't really fancy a walk up a big hill on a heavy-gravity planet with rainstorm on the side."

Beside Jonas, Sam straightened from where she'd been examining the control panel on the obelisk again. They'd been on P3X-651 for almost two hours now, and Jonas and Sam's frustration hung nearly as heavy as the atmosphere. At first, everything had seemed to go well. As Jonas had guessed, the control console of the obelisk had come to life as soon as they'd activated it with the hand-held key. It had proven difficult, however, to make any further progress. They had accessed a series of menus such as the one in the holocube, but not as extensive.

"Sir, I don't know if we're going to be able to do anything else until we've had time to analyze some of this."

"Well, how long is it going to take, Carter?"

Jonas and Sam exchanged regretful glances, and Jonas turned back. "I'm going to need to reference my materials at the SGC to translate all this more completely," he confessed.

"The only section of interface we haven't exhausted is this one," Sam said, nodding at the hologram that was flickering in the air before their eyes. "It's still...playing," she said hesitantly.

Colonel O'Neill cocked his head and studied the hologram. "That looks kind of like those headphone thingies that came from the ruins," he said, nodding and waving a hand at it. The hologram was indeed spewing a mottled array of rainbow-hued colors.

"Right, we thought so too," Sam confirmed. "They must be connected somehow. Sir, I'd like to set up some equipment to keep recording this, but we don't have it with us."

"So you're saying we should go home."

"Yes, sir. There's not much more we can do today."

As Colonel O'Neill had predicted, drenching rain began to fall as they reached the halfway point back to the stargate. Jonas spent the tedious trek up the hill struggling to keep his notebook and camera protected under the SGC poncho he'd hastily whipped out of one of his vest pockets. When they reached Earth, the team seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the wormhole disengaged behind them.

Debriefing did not take long. General Hammond agreed to schedule another trip to PX3-651 to set up Sam's remote recorder. Colonel O'Neill advised that they bring some rain gear to protect the equipment. Afterward, Jonas worked on translations until it was time for a violin lesson as he and Amelia had agreed upon.

He was glad that Amelia was back at the SGC after the craziness of Senator Kinsey's supposed assassination, but he was worried about her too. Since her return from Washington, Amelia had seemed quieter somehow, more fragile. She spoke more softly and less. She visited Doctor Fraiser nearly everyday, but still the doctor hadn't risked administering the Tretonin. Jonas hoped she would soon. He was becoming very concerned for his friend.

Today, Amelia began teaching him how to read music, something he'd already learned a little bit about when he'd been researching the Sentinel mission. The books she used were her own. "I didn't have time to go out and get anything new, so I went through some of my old toy boxes and found my primer books," she'd explained. The books themselves were covered with various sketches and letters in the margins and covers, including a large, shaky "Amelia" in a five-year-old's handwriting on the inside front. When he had commented upon these scribbles, she had only blushed and mumbled something indecipherable.

"What?"

"They're not very impressive compared to the drawings in your notebook," she said, smiling at him. "Trust me, my drawing skills haven't improved very much in nineteen years." She eyed a wobbly attempt at a flower with a dubious eye.

"No, I think they're nice," Jonas said with an encouraging smile. "They help me picture what little Amelia must have been like." He made a scampering motion with his fingers to make her laugh.

Amelia was a very good teacher, and despite the fact that Jonas was catching on to what she was showing him more quickly than she probably realized, he let her work at her own pace. He found Earth's system of musical notation to be both elegant and ingenious in its simplicity.

They'd been working for about half an hour, standing side by side at his worktable, when Amelia stopped to sit down. She lowered herself slowly into his desk chair, her palm flattened on her stomach. "Are you okay?" Jonas asked. "Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. I just need to get off my feet."

"You should probably go to bed," he said, looking up at the clock. It was almost twenty-one hundred hours.

Amelia folded her arms on the desk and buried her head in them, emitting a groan.

"What?" Jonas asked, even more alarmed.

There was a pause. "I_ hate_ that room," she said, her voice mumbled. The tone of her voice caused Jonas to laugh. She raised her head up again and smiled back at him weakly. "Sorry," she said. "Shouldn't be so whiney."

Relieved that she wasn't becoming more uncomfortable— and frankly not quite sure why she felt the need to apologize— Jonas made a dismissive gesture, his face screwed up in thought. "Oh," he said suddenly, face brightening, "I wanted to show you something I've been working on."

Amelia's expression became puzzled. "What?"

"Remember when we were talking about offworld instruments?"

"Yes."

Jonas retrieved the hand-held crystal device from PX3-651 off the nearby lab table. "This is a musical device created by the Ancients. I thought you'd like to take a look."

She accepted it from him gingerly, looking at it with interest. "How does it work?" she asked. Jonas helped her thread her fingers into the proper grooves and turned it on. He noted that her hands were very cold.

When the light inside the device turned on, brightening the jewel-colored keys, Amelia's eyes widened excitedly. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Play it," Jonas urged, smiling.

Cautiously, Amelia pushed a couple of the keys, emitting the clear, crystalline tones to which Jonas had become accustomed. She smiled, and looked up at him with wide joyful eyes for a moment before returning her attention to the device. "How do you know it's an instrument?" she asked.

"There were some old records we found preserved with the device," Jonas explained. "Actually, I'm not sure that it was used_ as_ an instrument, but I do know its intent was musical." He pointed to a red key near her forefinger. "This is C," he said helpfully.

Amelia cocked her head and played the note, smiling wider. Experimentally, she used the fingers of both hands to pick out a major scale, as Jonas had done not long after she'd first taught him scales a couple of weeks ago. "I wonder what the Ancients used for sheet music," she said offhandedly, laughing.

"Well, I doubt they would have used—" Jonas began, but trailed off, something suddenly clicking into place in his brain.

"What?" Amelia asked.

Jonas did not reply, instead circling to the other end of the lab table excitedly, where he retrieved the Ancient headphones. His mind was racing at a ferocious pace. He looked at his watch. Sam was long gone by now. Probably asleep. She went to bed very early. He looked back at Amelia. "This device was found along with the instrument," he said, holding up the headphones, "but I couldn't figure out what its purpose was. The Ancient records didn't say."

"And?"

"And I think," he continued, "that it might be what you said. Sheet music." Jonas gave a broad smile as he concluded. "Well, sort of."

Amelia only stared blankly. "Really?" she finally asked, disbelieving.

"Well, it makes sense. Here, look," he said, and proceeded to demonstrate the device's effects to Amelia. "The colors of the instrument's keys match the colors in these patterns."

"I see what you're saying," Amelia said, catching his excitement. "Match the colors, match the pitch. But what about tempo and rhythm?"

"I think those are built in too," Jonas said. He'd had several weeks, after all, to become familiar with the device's effects.

Taking off the headset again, Amelia looked down at the Ancient instrument still clutched inside her palm. "It'd take some finesse," she observed, "but if you had all these little keys memorized..."

"Exactly," Jonas finished. "I think we're really on to something."

Amelia laughed softly. "We?" she repeated. "Jonas, you just showed me this stuff ten minutes ago."

"Well, now I can't believe I didn't think to show you right away. You're far more an expert at music than any of the rest of us."

"Well then, my pleasure," she replied. Her eyes were still amused. Then she closed them for a second, a slight expression of discomfort on her face.

"Amelia, I really think you should go to bed."

She sighed sadly and looked at the clock, then back at Jonas. "How about a compromise?" she asked. "A movie in the rec room? I've got some medicine to take back in my quarters first. And then I promise I'll relax." At Jonas's hesitation, she added, "Please?"

"Okay," he finally agreed, ignoring the little tug of guilt inside him that was telling him he'd only agreed because the offer was so appealing. "I think Teal'c has a collection. Maybe he'll let us borrow one."

Amelia blinked. "Teal'c likes movies?" she asked with a level expression.

"Hey, it's a really great way to be exposed to Earth culture," Jonas said defensively.

"Right," she said, nodding and laughing.

"Good." He grabbed the sheet music and began assembling it into a stack. "Go ahead and take your medicine. I'll meet you at your room."

The movie Teal'c recommended was called _The Fellowship of the Ring_ and turned out to be quite long. They sat side by side on the sofa in the rec room, and Amelia seemed to be enjoying herself, but as the minutes progressed, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Jonas watched her nearly tip over three times before he pulled a pillow onto his lap and patted it with his hand. She was quick to accept the offer, laying on her side and snuggling her head into the pillow. Within five minutes she was snoring lightly.

Jonas, who wasn't at all sleepy, tried to focus on the movie, but found himself increasingly distracted by the warm weight on his lap. The phosphorescence of the television screen cast a blue pallor to Amelia's pale face, and accentuated the light freckles on her nose and cheeks. Finally, he reached out timidly, and brushed strands of her hair (which was now blond and curly; apparently Colonel O'Neill had pleaded with her to change her wig on the journey home from Washington), and something indescribable stirred in his chest at her innocent, fragile appearance.

It was well after midnight when Jonas finally turned off the TV, but he did not move, for fear of waking his unwitting companion. Instead he shifted himself into as comfortable a position on the couch that he could muster, propped his feet on the coffee table, and laid his head back. Soon he drifted off to join Amelia in sleep.

* * *

"Teal'c, have you seen Jonas?" 

It was early in the morning, and Jack was not relishing the day ahead. He'd unexpectedly encountered Maybourne over hot dogs yesterday, and then had to listen to an irritatingly smug tale about planets weapons caches and gate addresses. The trouble was (as Maybourne was well aware) Jack couldn't ignore the possibility of such a find.

Maybourne had turned himself into the Air Force this morning and Jack had promised to at least _speak_ with General Hammond about the man's information. The fact that Maybourne was more or less leading him along like an ass following a dangling carrot was really making Jack irritable. Were it not for the remote possibility that the cache of weapons might really exist, Jack would have not allowed his dignity to be compromised this way.

"Is he not in his quarters, O'Neill?"

"No, and he's not in his lab."

"Is he—?"

"—no, he's not in the commissary. I thought of that too."

Teal'c appeared thoughtful. "I spoke with Jonas Quinn yesterday evening just before my kelnorim. He and Amelia Kinsey had planned to watch a movie together in the recreation room. Perhaps you might try here."

Jack blinked. "No kidding?" he asked. "Huh. Well, thanks Teal'c. Hey, I've got a very fun and exciting briefing to give you all in two hours. Carter should be here soon. I'll keep trying to find Jonas," he said with an annoyed sigh. Of all times for that blasted kid to start being unpredictable.

Jack never made it to the rec room very often. In fact, it was rarely used by_ any_ of the SGC personnel unless there was a lockdown or quarantine situation and they started to go crazy from inertia. He supposed it made sense that Jonas might have taken advantage of it, but Jonas's brain always seemed far too occupied with other things to be interested in stuff like darts and ping-pong. Jack found it curious, therefore, that Jonas would have gone there, but having no other recourse, he decided to try Teal'c's suggestion.

When he flipped the light switch in the darkened room, a very surprising sight met his eyes. "Well, this is interesting," he said to himself after a disbelieving pause, raising his eyebrows. Jonas was sprawled out on the ratchy old Air Force sofa, one foot on the coffee table, the other on the floor. Amelia Kinsey's head was in his lap. Both were quite soundly asleep.

The picturesque— if very_ odd_— moment lasted only a second. Jonas stirred slightly and made a faint sound of protest at the onslaught of bright, fluorescent light. He blinked several times, rubbed his eyes, and finally took in his surroundings. "Colonel?" he asked in confusion when he spied Jack.

Jack held an amused finger to his lips and pointed. Still looking out of it, Jonas looked down. "Oh," he said quietly. "I forgot."

"Clearly," said Jack, his amusement rising, though it did nothing to allay his surprise. Jonas looked rather like a sixteen-year-old kid who'd just gotten busted for driving the old man's Porsche around on a Saturday night.

_It's not_ my_ Porsche, kid._

"Colonel, I'm sorry, I don't—I mean— this isn't what it looks like." Jonas sighed in frustration and rubbed his eyes again, then the back of his neck, looking very worried.

"What_ does_ it look like, Jonas?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows meaningfully and resisting the urge to smile. He probably should not be having so much fun with this.

"We were just watching a movie. She fell asleep."

"Ah." Jack stared at him a moment, deliberately letting the silence hang heavy just to torture Jonas. Then he asked lightly, "Good movie?"

"Yes. Yes, it was."

"Well, Sparky, I just wanted to let you know— briefing in two hours. Be there or be square."

Jonas looked confused. "Sir?"

"Don't be_ late,_ Jonas."

"Right. Thank you, sir."

Jack looked at his watch. "Carter will probably be here by now. I'm going to let her know."

As it turned out, Sam was running late. Jack waited around in her lab for almost twenty minutes, and was just contemplating the possibility of going to breakfast alone when she finally showed up.

"Sir?" she asked, pulling on the jacket of her fatigues as she stepped inside. "What are you doing here?"

"Briefing. Oh-nine-hundred hours," he said propping his hand on his chin to look at her plaintively.

She looked at the clock. "That's still an hour and a half away. Any special reason you're telling me now?"

"Because_ I_ called the briefing."

"Really?" she asked, a piqued expression on her face. She sat down on her very tall lab chair. "Why?"

He made a face and picked up a nearby magnifying glass. "Maybourne," he said, and looked through the glass, appreciating the fact that Carter looked just as nice when she was very magnified.

"Wow, what happened?"

He put down the magnifying glass again. "Now, now," he said, shaking a finger at her with a secretive smile, "you can't expect me to tell you everything."

"Right, sir," she said, giving him a humoring expression. She reached down to turn on her computer.

"Carter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I just found Jonas in the rec room. He slept in there all night."

"Okay..."

"Amelia Kinsey was in his lap. Well, her head was, anyway."

She paused, an interesting twitch playing at the corners of her mouth. She was clearly interested, clearly amused, but clearly _not _shocked. "Really?" she asked, a small smile in her voice. She turned on her monitor.

Jack sat up straight, frowning. "You_ knew_ about this?"

"Knew about what?" she asked, innocently.

"Jonas and..._Kinsey's_ daughter?" he hissed.

Sam laughed. "Oh, come on sir. You can't tell me you haven't suspected anything."

"Carter, do I_ usually_ pay attention to Jonas's social life?"

"Well, to be honest, sir, I'm not entirely sure anything's been going on. I just had my suspicions."

"Why?"

"Don't you know how much time they spend together? She's been teaching him to play the violin for almost a month."

"No, I didn't know that," Jack told her exasperatedly. He scowled. "I don't think there's a worse person on the face of this planet that Jonas could have fallen for."

Sam looked curious. "I thought you liked Amelia now, sir."

"I do! She's got spunk— clearly she was left on the doorstep— but I'm still not very happy about this."

"Why?"

"Because if Kinsey even got a smidgen of a_ hint_ this was going on, he'd blame me. Like I need any more of his antagonizing in my life."

The truth was, if Jack hadn't gotten to know Amelia Kinsey a little better during the attempted assassination incident, he would have been very worried, but for other reasons. A member of Kinsey's family holding any measure of influence over a member of SG-1 was dangerous in many, many ways. But something in the girl's eyes the day she'd visited him in his cell rested all Jack's misgivings in this vein. Amelia Kinsey was not her father.

"Well, sir, like I said. Don't worry about it too much. I could be very wrong."

"I don't know, they looked pretty cozy."

Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm hungry. How about some Froot Loops?" she asked in a patronizing voice, taking him by the arm and steering him out the door.

"Very funny, Carter."

* * *

When Colonel O'Neill left the room, Jonas gave out a very long, very relieved sigh. 

"Well, that was awkward," said a voice from below him. Jonas started, and looked down in surprise to see Amelia's head twist up to smile at him serenely. "Good morning," she said cheerily.

"You were_ awake_?" he asked accusatorily.

She grinned wider and sat up, brushing straying hair out of her eyes. "It was worth it," she said. "Although I confess, I had a hard time keeping from laughing."

"How much did you hear?"

"Everything from _'Colonel, this isn't what it looks like'_ on," she said, putting an exaggerated element of panic in her voice.

Jonas groaned and put his hand over his eyes. "This is embarrassing," he muttered.

"Well, it would only be embarrassing if it were true, right?"

She asked the question lightly, but when he pulled his hand away from his eyes, Jonas caught a curious and hopeful expression cross her features as she darted a quick sidelong glance at him. The expression was swiftly masked.

"Right," he said softly, gazing at her thoughtfully. There was an awkward pause.

"Anyway," she said, scrambling to her feet and crossing around the sofa. "So, you're going on a mission today? I didn't know that." There was a small white ball on the table where she was standing. Idly, she picked it up and began bouncing it on the table with the paddle that was resting beside it.

"I didn't know, either," Jonas said distractedly, watching her in fascination. "What are you doing?" He got to his feet and walked over to study her actions more closely.

She stopped. "You've never played ping-pong?" she asked, surprised.

"No, what is it?"

"A game. Table tennis, actually, is the_ proper_ name," she said, overemphasizing the word 'proper'.

"Which means you're probably pretty good at it, having taken those tennis lessons," Jonas pointed out, crossing his arms.

Amelia gave a smirking sort of smile and shrugged casually. "Maybe," she replied. Her eyes were twinkling with mischief when she looked at him. "Wanna play?"

"Just be nice to the new guy, okay?"

The game was surprisingly fun, and Jonas's only regret was the mindful eye he had to keep on the time. He would have to be at Colonel O'Neill's briefing before long, and he could probably do with a shower. He could_ definitely_ do with some breakfast, but something held him where he was.

Amelia was behaving in an uncharacteristically lively manner, jumping about and shrieking with laughter as she chased the ping-pong ball, and scolding him when he teased her. Soon she was breathing heavily and her eyes were very bright. A small voice told Jonas that perhaps she shouldn't be pushing herself so hard, but he nudged it back. There were certain things about Amelia Kinsey that he was becoming increasingly aware of since the previous evening, and the opportunity to linger in her company seemed more appealing than anything else right now.

"Okay, your serve," she said, breathing hard. She threw the ball to him and he caught it deftly.

"Seven serving thirteen," Jonas said with confidence. The game itself was really quite simple to understand. He studied the tabletop for a moment, pondering a course of action, then smiled. The lightest of taps sent it just barely over the net, forcing Amelia to make an unexpected lunge to get to it.

"Now who's being sneaky?" she asked him as it came back Jonas's way.

He rebounded it with ease. "I'd hate to think I was the first person in the history of ping-pong to think of_ that_," he told her. "I think you're withholding tactical advantages."

"Oh yes, Mr. Perfect Health," she said back, hitting the ball extra-hard his way. "I have_ all_ the advantage here."

Her last hit had been slightly too well-placed for Jonas, and he could only watch as it bounced erratically off the table and over the sofa behind them. He went to retrieve it. "I suggest you take a look at the score," he pointed out, turning around again. Then he frowned. "Amelia?"

She was standing on the other end of the table, clutching her stomach the way she'd been the evening before and breathing shakily. She gave him a weak smile, "I'll be all right," she assured him.

"No, Amelia," he said, his brow furrowed. He set the ball and the paddle down on the table and made a quick work of circumventing it on the other side. "You're sick, you should really rest."

"I just had a good night's sleep," she protested.

He put his hands on her arms, trying to convey his concern. "Amelia," he said again, more slowly this time, "You're sick. You need to stop." He could feel her pulse under his hands, racing at an alarming speed, and she was very pale.

She frowned in frustration. "Jonas, I'm fine, really! I just need—"

The rest of her words were cut off. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped. Jonas caught her smoothly, a fit of panic overtaking him. "Amelia!" he cried, shaking her slightly. "Oh no," he mumbled. "Amelia!"

Still she did not respond. Jonas did not waste any more time. He gathered her in his arms and carried her out of the room, grateful that the infirmary was only one level away.

* * *

**A/N: **I think I have just as much fun with uncomfortable Jonas as Jack does. ;-) 

Saché


	10. Jonas's Bad Day

**CHAPTER TEN - **_Jonas's Bad Day_

_

* * *

_

_Is it thy will, thy image should keep open  
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?  
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,  
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?  
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee  
So far from home into my deeds to pry,  
To find out shames and idle hours in me,  
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?  
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:  
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:  
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,  
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:_

_For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,  
From me far off, with others all too near._

Sonnet 61 by William Shakespeare

* * *

The scene reminded Jonas too eerily of the moment Aiyana had died. Within moments upon reaching the infirmary, Amelia was lost behind a barrier of monitors, wires, and people. Doctor Fraiser took command, barking orders and scurrying about in a frenzy, shunting Jonas aside after asking him a few very quick questions. Jonas was only able to watch, helpless and desperately worried.

Now the room was quiet once more, except for the soft beeping of Amelia's heart monitor and the whirring of the other machinery. He stood alone by her bed, watching the rise and fall of her labored breathing, aware that he was due in the briefing room in five minutes and wondering how he would be able to concentrate on anything today.

"Jonas?"

He turned and gave Doctor Fraiser a weak smile as she stepped up behind him, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "How is she?"

"Stable enough for the moment, but very weak. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"We were playing a game in the rec room. She just...collapsed."

"What were you playing?"

"Table tennis."

Jonas did not need an interpreter to tell him that the heavy silence following these words was _not _approving. "What was she thinking?" Janet finally murmured. "What were_ you _thinking? Jonas, you know how advanced her condition is. Her body needs all the strength it can manage right now if she's to have any chance of pulling through this. She shouldn't have been exerting herself."

Jonas was only able to nod, mortified.

"And in the future, medical emergencies are to be called in over the proper channels. You might have risked a lot, carrying her here like you did."

"Yes, Doctor. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I was just-really scared."

Janet reached up and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "You care about her very much, don't you?"

Jonas did not immediately reply, but bent down and picked up Amelia's left hand in his own. "Have you ever heard her play, Doctor?" he asked.

"No, I haven't."

"She likes the composers that laugh," he said softly. "Mozart, Mendelssohn. Vivaldi." He studied her fingers— nails clipped short, thick calluses on the tips. Yes, he cared about her very much. He did not want to lose her like he had lost Aiyana. "When do you think she'll wake up?"

"I don't know, Jonas. She's in a coma. It's hard to say."

"Have you administered the Tretonin?"

"No, not yet, but I will. I only hope I haven't waited too long." Janet's voice bore the weight of her own burden.

"I have to go," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied. "I'll keep you informed."

"Thanks."

For whatever reason, Jonas did not tell his teammates about Amelia's condition when he finally showed up for the briefing, avoiding Colonel O'Neill's disapproving expression for arriving ten minutes late. He was trying to take his cue from Doctor Fraiser and keep calm, and he had the feeling that vocalizing his concern would somehow make it more distracting. Janet had said Amelia was stable, at least. For now, it was going to have to be enough.

As for the briefing itself, the story that Colonel O'Neill relayed was certainly interesting enough to hold part of his attention. Jonas had never met the infamous Colonel Maybourne, but the man's history with the SGC was long and notorious. Maybourne purported to have information about a large cache of weapons and technology hidden offworld, and a key to open it, which he would hand over in exchange for a presidential pardon. Sam, Teal'c, and General Hammond seemed less than convinced, and even Colonel O'Neill looked as though just relaying the request was embarrassing.

Jonas had no trouble partaking in his teammates' caution and skepticism. "Did he say how he came across this key?" he asked, wondering just how many_ other_ secrets the NID was keeping or had kept from the SGC over the years.

"Nope," replied the Colonel.

"You were correct when you said it's doubtful the Pentagon would authorize Colonel Maybourne's presence on an off-world mission," General Hammond said.

"Should we not at least explore the planet to which he has provided the address?" Teal'c pointed out. It was a question Jonas was sure had been on everyone's mind.

"He did risk his butt just to make the proposition," said Colonel O'Neill reluctantly.

"Maybe we can get through the door without him," Sam pointed out. "If Maybourne thinks it's worth a pardon, what's on the other side must be good." She seemed most eager. Her eyes were alight with the possibility of challenge.

General Hammond looked at her confidently. "Do it," he said, nodding.

They set themselves to depart in an hour. Jonas geared up methodically, his mind full of questions and concerns. If any of his teammates noticed his uncharacteristic pensiveness, they gave no sign. After a trip to his lab to collect his camera and notebook, Jonas dropped by the infirmary once more, where he found Amelia much the same as she'd been an hour before.

"I administrated the Tretonin," Doctor Fraiser told him when she had a moment away from another patient. "The good news is that her body does not seem to be rejecting it. Other than that, I'm afraid it's still too soon to know how it will work."

"Still no word from the Tok'ra?" Jonas asked.

"No."

He nodded regretfully. It wasn't uncommon for the Tok'ra to be out of touch, but the timing of this particular absence was more than inopportune. "Perhaps we should attempt to contact them ourselves," he suggested.

"I'm not sure we can, but I'll advise General Hammond," Doctor Fraiser assured him.

Jonas was slightly late again when he reached the gate room. "Forget to eat your Wheaties this morning?" Colonel O'Neill commented as he hurried to join the rest of the team at the bottom of the ramp.

"Huh?" Jonas asked as he stowed his camera into his bag. Behind them, the vortex sprang to life with its usual vibrancy and the sounds of the gate being dialed were replaced by the gentle lapping of the event horizon.

"It's a breakfast cereal marketed to athletes," said Sam, readjusting her grip on her P-90. "Supposed to help give you a nutritional jumpstart to your day."

"Really?" Jonas asked, mildly interested.

"Don't listen to her," Colonel O'Neill injected. "They're boring, boring wheat flakes. Very boring." He clapped Jonas on the shoulder. "Besides, I think a jumpstart is the_ last_ thing you need, Sparky. Did I mention they're boring?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Let's get a move out, shall we?" He headed up the ramp, leaving Jonas to wonder something: if the Colonel found Wheaties so distasteful, why had he mentioned them in the first place?

The view from the Stargate when they stepped through was impressive. A stone temple stood perched on a ledge some distance across from them, which took a considerable amount of walking and climbing to reach, but the view was good. They were not long within the ruins when they found the device Colonel Maybourne had described. It appeared to be completely abandoned.

"Nobody home," Jonas commented, camera in hand. He was immediately intrigued by the exotic contours and angles of the alien script prominent on the shaded walls, and set to work on them with his camera.

"Are you able to translate any of this, Jonas Quinn?" Teal'c asked curiously, noting Jonas's actions.

"It's not Ancient, but it's definitely a language belonging to one of the races of the ancient alliance," Jonas replied.

"Nox? Asgard?" supplied Colonel O'Neill helpfully.

Jonas glanced at him. "Furlings."

"Oh!" said the Colonel, snapping disappointedly, scowling. "No, not those guys."

"What?" Jonas asked curiously.

"Oh, I don't know, I just can't imagine cute little furry things making big powerful weapons, that's all."

Jonas was surprised. "I don't even know what they look like," he said, stepping back past where Major Carter was examining a piece of alien technology on a pillar. Noting more script on the front of it—blockier than that on the walls— he began studying it with interest.

"_Furling_," recited the Colonel obviously. "Sounds cute and fuzzy to me."

Jonas was more captivated by the text. "This section says something like 'only the righteous may pass'," he said, pointing out a portion of the inscription that jumped out at him. There wasn't much source material available on the language of the Furlings, but by comparing the texts of the four races found on Ernest Littlefield's planet and further information provided by the Asgard, Doctor Jackson had been able to make a little headway into it.

Sam tapped her fingers on two notches in the center of the device, which looked very much like a giant electrical outlet. "This looks like where Maybourne's key would go."

Her scanner began beeping, and she glanced at it. "I'm getting energy readings," she continued. "There's a power source in this arch." The three men watched her intently as she stepped along the archway. A few feet away, she stopped and pointed to one portion of it. "Here," she said.

A moment later, Sam found a catch on a panel and pulled away part of the pillar. "Sir?" she said amazedly, "This is definitely something."

"What?" asked Colonel O'Neill.

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't recognize the technology."

"But can you make it work?"

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, sir," she said again. "It might take a long time to analyze this technology, and even if I_ could_ figure it out, there's no guarantee I could enable the device without the key."

"Do you know what it does?"

Sam glanced at Jonas. "My guess is it's a transporter of some kind," she said, and Jonas nodded in agreement.

Colonel O'Neill gave a very long, frustrated sigh. "Fine," he said. "I'm going back to Earth— see if I can't weasel it out of Maybourne. He should have arrived at the SGC by now. You kids be good while I'm gone, okay?"

Jonas was almost tempted to ask the Colonel if he could accompany him back, but once again something restrained him. There was still a lot of work for him to get done here, and without explaining the_ real_ reason he wanted to leave, he had no viable excuse. Besides, he thought reluctantly, he would probably just be getting in Dr. Fraiser's way.

Jonas, Sam, and Teal'c worked in relative silence after the Colonel had gone. With Teal'c's help, Jonas was able to find every scratch of alien text in the immediate area, while Sam set up her computer and continued investigating the device.

"Sam?" he asked her quietly, when he finally finished.

She looked up. "What is it?"

"I'm done here, for now. If you don't mind, Teal'c and I would like to explore a little further. Maybe we'll find something else helpful."

She nodded. "Sounds good. Stay in radio contact."

"Yes, Major."

Together he and Teal'c began wandering the remainder of the temple, which was simple in design but vaster than he'd originally surmised. He found the walking did him good, though he stopped every once in a while to catalogue additional writing.

"Is everything all right, Jonas Quinn?"

Jonas had been in such deep thought as they walked that when Teal'c finally voiced the question, he was caught by surprise. "Sorry?" he asked, turning to look at the Jaffa.

"You are uncharacteristically quiet today."

"Oh," Jonas replied. He hesitated. Suddenly his friend's concern seemed to shatter his stoic resolve to be utterly silent into a thousand small bits. "I'm just worried," he said quietly.

"Concerning what?"

Jonas shook his head. "Concerning_ whom_," he said. Then he sighed. "Amelia's not doing very well."

"Ah." Teal'c seemed thoughtful. "Your friendship with Amelia Kinsey is strong," he stated.

Jonas nodded, and brushed his fingers over an etching on a wall they were passing, trying to avoid the Jaffa's scrutiny. It was very like Doctor Fraiser's inquisitiveness in the infirmary that morning, and he did not miss the implication in either instance. "Yeah," he finally said. "It's made me a bit distracted, that's all. Hey, don't tell Sam and Colonel O'Neill, okay?"

"Do you not think they would be concerned, Jonas Quinn?"

"It's not that, it's just...there's nothing they can do for her, and they've got plenty to think about right now, you know?"

Teal'c did not look as though he agreed, but he gave an acquiescent nod. "Very well," he said.

They walked a while longer, and Teal'c made no further effort of intruding upon Jonas's solitude. When they finally returned to the place where they'd started, however, they found a most jarring sight.

"Major Carter!" Jonas cried, rushing forward. Sam was sprawled on the ground, and he worriedly knelt beside her, helping her to achieve a sitting position. "What happened?" he asked, looking around. He could see no sign of anything amiss.

It took her a moment to regain her bearings. She seemed to be recovering from something. "Maybourne zatted me," she finally managed, her voice a stunned-sounding croak.

Teal'c rose to his feet and immediately began looking around suspiciously.

"Maybourne?" Jonas repeated. "Where's Colonel O'Neill?"

Sam blinked a few times and made to go to her feet. Jonas assisted her, and when she was all the way up, she shook her head slightly. It was still another moment before she spoke. "Colonel O'Neill came back with Maybourne and the key," she said slowly, her brow creased. She looked over at the alien device, remembering. "Maybourne put in the key, and then he took my zat and fired on me. He and Colonel O'Neill disappeared through here..." she muttered. Now she was staring avidly at the space beneath the archway.

"Do you know where they went?" Jonas asked.

Teal'c was still looking around as if expecting Maybourne and the Colonel to reappear at any moment. "O'Neill, this is Teal'c. Do you read?" he asked into his radio. He waited a moment but there was no reply. "Repeat- O'Neill, do you read?" Another pause. "It would not appear that Colonel O'Neill is within radio contact," Teal'c observed.

"The doorway was a force field of some kind. I've never seen anything like it. It disappeared after they'd gone through."

"Like a wormhole?" Jonas asked.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think this had anything to do with Stargate technology." She finally seemed to be completely recovered. "I'm going to run a few tests. Maybe I can somehow triangulate their position," she said, heading over to her laptop, which she'd set up while they'd been gone.

Teal'c paced slowly and Jonas tried watching Sam work, but she did not explain what she was doing, so he was at something of a loss to follow. After about twenty minutes she finally sighed in frustration. "I'm getting nowhere here," she said. "Jonas, head back to the SGC. Ask General Hammond to send up a UAV. If Colonel O'Neill has activated his tracking device, we should be able to pinpoint his location."

Jonas nodded and headed back to the Stargate with all possible speed. This day was going from bad to worse.

* * *

Three days later, Amelia's condition remained constant and Colonel O'Neill had not been found. Jonas's nights were nearly sleepless with worry and distraction. He took Amelia's violin— which she'd left in his lab— into his quarters and spent long hours pacing and staring at the closed case, missing its sound and trying to think if anything he could do that he hadn't done already to help his two friends- each of them lost in such different ways.

"General Hammond?" Jonas asked, knocking softly on the wall outside the General's office.

"Jonas, come in. What can I do for you?"

"I called Agent Barrett, sir, to request any information he could track down regarding that artifact Maybourne used to get through the doorway. Hopefully we can get copies of whatever he used to figure it out."

"That's good news."

"I hope so, sir. He said it would probably take a while- assuming they're able to find anything at all."

"Well, keep reminding him. I don't want the NID to conveniently forget and let the matter slide."

"Yes, sir. Still no word from the Tok'ra?"

"No," the General sighed. "We've tried all the means we've had in the past of contacting them. It's looking more and more like we might just have to wait it out. How is Miss Kinsey doing?"

"Doctor Fraiser administered the last of the Tretonin this morning," Jonas said quietly. "It seems to be keeping her stable, but the Doctor thinks she needs a more potent dose to be able to fight the disease at this advanced stage." He shook his head in frustration. "Sir, the Tok'ra operate out of more than one base. Can't we go to one of those? Surely there must be_ some_ way we can reach them. Even if we can't find Commander Malek to help Amelia we could at least get them to help us find Colonel O'Neill."

"Unfortunately, for security reasons the Tok'ra have only ever divulged to us the location of one of their bases at a time," replied the General, shaking his head. "We have no way-"

Abruptly the sounds of alert went off and the lights started flashing around the base, indicating gate activity. Jonas looked at his watch. "Major Carter is due to report in soon," he said. "Maybe she's found something."

Together the two men headed down the stairs to the control room, where Lieutenant Graham was manning the boards. "Receiving transmission sir," he said as they stepped up behind him. "Audio only."

"Put it on speaker," instructed General Hammond.

Graham nodded, even as his hands were already manipulating the controls. A moment later, the transmission came through, clear and distinct. "This is Akhmet of the Tok'ra. I am calling to reestablish contact with the Tau'ri."

Jonas felt a swell of hope inside his chest.

_Talk about your timing._

"It's good to hear from you, Akhmet," said General Hammond, sending a knowing look of satisfaction Jonas's way. "We were beginning to get concerned."

"I apologize for the delay, General. There were many complications with this relocation, for reasons that are best not discussed over an open channel."

"Perhaps you'd like to discuss them in private," the General suggested. "We have some urgent business with the Tok'ra. Would it be possible to arrange an immediate meeting?"

There was a pause. "Certainly, General," Akhmet replied.

"With your permission, I'd like to send a team to your new base within the hour."

"We will expect your arrival. I am transmitting the coordinates now."

When the transmission ended, Jonas turned to General Hammond. "Sir, with your permission, I'd like to be included on the team."

Hammond nodded. "I thought you might. I'll send you along with SG-13. Be prepared to leave in one hour."

* * *

**A/N: **Um… I don't own Wheaties. LOL

Mozart, Mendelssohn, and Vivaldi are my favorite composers.

Feedback always loved!

Saché


	11. A Very Passionate Race

**CHAPTER ELEVEN **_- A Very Passionate Race

* * *

_

_Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,  
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,  
Have put on black and loving mourners be,  
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.  
And truly not the morning sun of heaven  
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,  
Nor that full star that ushers in the even,  
Doth half that glory to the sober west,  
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:  
O! let it then as well beseem thy heart  
To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace,  
And suit thy pity like in every part._

_  
Then will I swear beauty herself is black,  
And all they foul that thy complexion lack._

Sonnet 132 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Amelia's journey back to consciousness was slow and murky, as though she were emerging from fathoms of deep, dark water. First she had hazy dreams - a stream of faces and colors and memories all mixed up like a grabbing bag. Then there were delirious moments when she would barely awaken, in which she could see muted colors and hear voices talking, but she could never make out the words.

When at last she did fully wake up she had no idea where she was. It was very dark, and something about the air was unfamiliar. She struggled for a moment, trying to remember what had happened to her and how she might have gotten here - wherever _here _was. It was as though her mind was jumpstarting; she had to stop and concentrate for a considerable span of time.

Her eyes began to adjust to the dim light, enough for her to make out a vague male figure slouched in a chair a few feet away as if sleeping. "Jonas?" she managed, unthinking. Her voice cracked with disuse and she instantly realized how thirsty she was.

The figure rose. "Amelia," said a voice quietly. It sounded very strange. "I thought you would awaken soon."

She closed her eyes, fighting to retrieve a particular memory out of the thousands that were now flooding back to her. "Malek?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, kneeling beside her bed and feeling her forehead. "You are at the Tok'ra base on Enna in the Shvri sector. We brought you here almost two weeks ago to better accommodate your needs. Your condition was very grave."

Amelia blinked several times. Her eyes were now much better adjusted to the darkness, and she could see that the room she was in was significantly vaster than she would have supposed. "What happened?" she finally asked.

"There will be time enough for questions in the morning. For now, you should drink something and go back to sleep." Amelia was in no condition to argue. She drank the water the Tok'ra brought her eagerly and wearily collapsed back onto the bed.

When she awoke again, she wasn't sure whether or not morning had come. There were no windows in her room - in fact, she wasn't even sure the walls could exactly be called_ walls_. They were more like a cave. However, bright light was streaming into the chamber from not one, but two different entries, and voices could be heard drifting in. Occasionally, a pair of hurried footsteps would rush by.

With a clairvoyance she hadn't had in the middle of the night, it suddenly hit Amelia that she was on a different_ planet_, probably hundreds of light years from home. Excited, she sat up probably more quickly than was wise, and her thoughts were confirmed when an instant woozy head rush caused her vision to swim. A foreign chill told her almost instantly that she wasn't wearing her wig. She must have been_ really _groggy last night if she hadn't picked up on that. She hoped the Tok'ra had it with them, because otherwise she would feel extremely self-conscious for her first trip to a new world.

Amelia waited until the dizziness had passed before looking more closely at her surroundings. There was a long, high table or counter directly across from her bed, liberally covered with alien instruments and devices. What looked like chests of various sizes were stacked haphazardly all over the floor. The bed she was sleeping on was low to the ground, and did not have a mattress, but rather several layers of plush furs, while the blankets were made of something as sturdy as cotton but much softer. There was a small settee on the near wall where Malek had been sitting the night before, and a set of clothes was piled on top of it.

Hesitantly, Amelia climbed out of the bed. She was wearing what seemed to be white medical scrubs from Earth, but they were very thin and very chilly. Wishing this room wasn't open to the whole of Tok'ra society, Amelia snatched the provided garments and struggled into them underneath her covers. The boots that went with them were a little bit big, but she supposed that was better than the other way around.

This accomplished, Amelia was able to explore the room more closely, and although a closer inspection didn't yield much, she did find a small pile of her things at the foot of her bed, including her wig, some of her own clothing, and - to her surprise - her violin.

"Your friend Jonas brought that along when the Tau'ri brought you to Enna," said a voice behind her.

Amelia jumped and dashed around, frantically pulling the wig onto her head. "Good morning," she said shakily to Malek, embarrassed.

He gave one of his barely discernible expressions of amusement. "I am glad you are doing better," he said, nodding his head slightly.

Having finally secured the wig in place, Amelia dropped her hands to her sides. "I'm sorry," she said, confusedly. "But the last thing I remember was playing ping-pong with Jonas. What happened?"

Malek held out a hand towards the door, the other tucked neatly behind his back like the rich men used to do in an older America. "If you're up to a walk we could take a small tour, and I will explain as we go. You are probably hungry."

No sooner did he say the words than Amelia's stomach twitched. "Yes, thank you," she said, nodding, and fell into step beside him and out the doorway.

"The disease had reached a point of saturation in your system," Malek began impassively. "You went into a coma and Doctor Fraiser began treating you with her supply of the Tretonin. By that time the effects of the disease had raged so strongly that the small dose she had could only hold it at bay, and only for a little while. It is fortunate that the Tok'ra made contact with the Tau'ri when we did, otherwise you might have been lost. For that I apologize. I should have contacted your planet concerning this matter as soon as we were secure here on Enna, but I did not think the last time I examined you that time would be so brief."

He paused. "I should have heeded Doctor Fraiser's words more closely. I'm afraid diseases of this nature are typically checked very early among our kind because of the healing effects of a symbiote. I do not have the experience with advanced forms as she does." His jaw was set and he looked quite upset with himself.

"So why was I brought here?" Amelia asked.

"The day we made contact again with the Tau'ri, I received a personal visit from Jonas Quinn and your SG-13, who advised me of the urgency of your condition." This piece of information about Jonas caused a flush of warmth to spread over Amelia, and she gave a secret, pleased smile. "After examining you, I requested permission to bring you here in order to monitor your condition with the full service of my facilities near at hand." He paused, then said awkwardly, "I understand your father was not too keen on this course of action."

Amelia snorted slightly. "No, I imagine not," she muttered.

"I must confess, once we got you here, the situation was not always hopeful. However, I'm happy to inform you that eventually the doses of Tretonin were enough to stave off the disease."

"So...I'm cured?" Amelia asked uncertainly. It seemed a little too easy, somehow.

"No, not yet. There are two factors yet to keep in mind. The first is that I was required to treat you with very high and potent levels of Tretonin because of the extent of your malady. The second is that Tretonin is of the nature that anyone taking it must be weaned off gradually, as we have learned with the Pangarans."

"Which means I have a longer period of recovery."

Malek nodded. "I've already contacted the SGC to inform them that you have awakened. I have also received permission to keep you here for the next three weeks at least for an intensive treatment regimen and for monitoring purposes. But I do not want you to worry. The worst is over and you don't seem to have developed a chemical dependency on the drug. The only remaining inconvenience to you is the time factor."

"So in three weeks I'll be cured?" Amelia asked hopefully. She was very anxious to get to the part when Malek would say 'You're cured!' although she had a feeling it wouldn't be quite like that, coming from him.

He shook his head again. "No, by that time I believe you will be ready to return to Earth and submit to further treatment, although it will be increasingly sparse as time goes on."

Amelia considered this information. "Well," she said slowly, "Now that I actually_ have_ time, I'm nothing but grateful," she said, smiling at him. "Thank you, Malek. I owe you my life."

"It was my pleasure. Shall we proceed with a meal?" he asked. They had arrived at a room that looked no different than any other to Amelia's eyes, but there were wall units that could have maybe passed for ovens back on Earth, and a handful of Tok'ra were either assembling foodstuffs for themselves or already eating.

She nodded politely. "Yes," she said as they stepped into the room. "Hey, how do you guys do that to the walls, anyway?" she asked.

* * *

Jonas, Sam and Teal'c stood with General Hammond in the gate room, watching the Stargate as it activated. Jonas studied Sam closely, who was tense with anticipation, her expression eager.

"Confirming IDC, sir," the technician informed General Hammond from the control room. "It's SG-1's signal."

General Hammond smiled. "Open the iris," he instructed.

When Colonel O'Neill stepped through the Stargate onto the ramp, he looked around and let out a happy sigh and a large grin. "Honey, I'm home!" he said, spreading his arms wide.

"Welcome home, Colonel. It's good to have you back."

"Thank you, sir. It was good to be missed." A second figure emerged from the Stargate beside him. "I believe you people know Councilor Kleyon."

"Councilor," said the General, nodding. "Jack, where is Colonel Maybourne?"

"Ah, well," said Jack, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Interesting story, General. I think it's best if we all sit down and discuss it over some coffee. And some doughnuts. Or maybe a steak or some banana pudding..."

"We'll debrief immediately, Colonel. I'm sure Councilor Kleyon has other matters to attend to, so we'll be as brief as possible. Councilor?" Hammond said, holding out a hand to lead the way.

"Thank you, General," she replied, following him down the ramp.

Colonel O'Neill paused before descending and looked at his team, lined up before him. "So," he said, "just how many times are you guys going to have to track me down in this dad-gummit universe, anyway?"

Sam grinned. "Welcome home, sir."

"Thanks, Carter. As I was saying. Steak?"

"I don't think the mess usually makes steak, sir," Sam informed him as they began heading away from the Stargate.

"I don't suppose they could whip up a good shepherd's pie either, huh? The Irish in me is screaming to be let out."

"It's grilled cheese and tomato soup today, Colonel."

"Thank you, Jonas. I should have asked you first."

A few hours later, Jonas sat alone in his lab at his computer, enjoying the feeling of calm and relief that had been absent around the SGC of late. Among other things, Councilor Kleyon had reported that Amelia's treatments with the Tok'ra were going well, and that she would be returning home within the week. He was very much anticipating her arrival. As for Colonel O'Neill,_ he_ had eagerly headed home after the debriefing and his medical examination. General Hammond had given him a week off to recover, which meant the rest of the team was off duty, as well.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be relaxing," came the sound of a voice from his doorway.

He turned around. "Oh, hey, Sam. I am relaxing." He grinned.

Sam stepped close up behind him and studied the information on his screen. She was dressed in civilian clothing, her jacket draped over her arm - clearly ready to depart for the evening. "What's this?" she asked.

"Amelia started teaching me how to read music just before her collapse," he said, nodding at the faded primer books that were still open on the lab table at his elbow, "I was learning a little bit more about it on the internet here."

"Knowing you, she won't have anything left to teach when she gets back," Sam said with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, well. She gave me a really good start."

Sam was quiet a moment. "Look, Jonas, I'm sorry if I've been a bit...distracted these past few weeks." She paused. "Okay, a _lot _distracted. I know how worried you were about Amelia- I'm sorry I wasn't very supportive."

Jonas shook his head. "It's no problem, Major," he said, shrugging. "It's only natural you would be so concerned about Colonel O'Neill. I mean, I was too, but you guys have been through so much as teammates, and you barely even know Amelia."

"But I do know you pretty well, Jonas. I should have been more considerate."

"Well, if you think about it," he said thoughtfully, spinning slowly in his chair, "in some ways the situation with Colonel O'Neill was worse - at least with Amelia we _knew_ what was going on, no matter how much our hands were tied in helping her."

"Well, it's easy to understand why _you_ were so worried," Sam said. There was a tease in her voice.

Jonas looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

Sam looked surprised, and then uncomfortable. "I'm sorry - I was thinking—"

Jonas shook his head again, confused. "What?"

Sam flushed and concentrated on the tabletop. "Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but we all sort of thought you and Amelia— " she trailed off and made a meaningful expression, not meeting his eyes.

Jonas's widened. "Oh!" he said. "Right. Um..." Now it was his turn to be uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked back at Sam with an embarrassed expression. "To tell you the truth," he said. "I'm not sure. It's possible," he added thinking of the last evening Amelia had been awake.

She smiled a little. "Do you want there to be?"

"Ah..." Jonas shifted slightly in his chair. With Doctor Fraiser and Teal'c he'd managed to evade this line of questioning, but Sam had managed to back him into a corner. His eyes fell on Amelia's music books again, and he picked one up with a smile, thinking of its owner and her friendly laugh. "I don't think I'd mind," he confessed with a bashful smile to Sam.

She grinned. "Then when she gets back, you should let her know."

"Yeah," said Jonas, exhaling loudly. The idea made him a little nervous. He looked at Sam oddly. "I'm surprised you seem so okay with the idea."

"How come?"

"Kinsey," was Jonas's simple reply.

"Your problem, not mine," she said, punching his shoulder and winking meaningfully.

"So, what did you mean by 'we'?" Jonas asked her curiously.

Sam frowned for a moment, jogging her memory. "Oh," she said. "By 'we' I meant the rest of the team, you know-me, Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c. We were all starting to get suspicions."

Jonas made a face. "Colonel O'Neill?" he repeated.

"Yeah, I guess you kind of threw him off with that rec room incident."

Jonas groaned. "You know, I almost forgot about that, after all that's happened."

Sam looked to be having particular fun in teasing him. "I believe the term he used was 'cozy'," she added, her eyes alight with mischief.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" Jonas asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

She laughed. "Yeah, I'm gonna check out for the night. I'll probably swing around in a couple days. Have a good break, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," he replied.

After Sam had gone, Jonas shuffled the clutter on his desk around until he found the two devices from PX3-651 that he and Amelia had been discussing the day before her collapse. He hadn't really looked at them in the past month - he'd been entirely occupied trying to find Colonel O'Neill. He idly played the notes on the musical device, and smiled fondly at the memory of Amelia's wonderment. Then he fitted her 'sheet music' headphones to his head and began experimenting.

* * *

Barrett chose to wait for Rachel's report in one of his favorite coffee shops. They'd determined various means of transferal- this time she was going to email it, and he'd pick it up at a remote computer. The file itself was inconspicuous, so he didn't waste much time worrying about any security risks. Besides, he knew a thing or two about covering his tracks.

He sat at one of the stools with access to a computer and skimmed the internet, sipping his coffee and catching up on the news he hadn't gotten to read this morning before leaving for work. Among other things, there was a preliminary report released by a university research group studying the long-term effect of smog in California. Barrett couldn't help but think of his meeting with Major Carter a few weeks ago, when he'd also been reflecting on environmental issues.

Much had come of the events surrounding the attempted assassination of Kinsey, not the least of which was that Rachel had finally managed to get much sought-after wiretap on the phone in Kinsey's study when she'd been invited to his home for the celebratory party. She'd also had a close encounter with both the Senator and his daughter Amelia in the process, but had- hopefully- managed to save face by pretending to be misdirected.

Ironically, the subject of Amelia Kinsey was one that had been flitting around in Barrett's head for a couple of weeks now. The girl was offworld at present- which a certain irate Senator called the SGC to inquire and complain about at least twice a day. It was natural, at first glance, ti assume that Kinsey was showing a fatherly concern, but Rachel's hard work had already yielded valuable results from the second wiretap- multiple contacts with the mysterious man who'd first approached Kinsey regarding the rogue NID's interest in Tretonin. They were putting the pressure on him to obtain the drug. Barrett could perhaps guess at Kinsey's panic. If the girl was being treated offworld- a turn of events that hadn't been anticipated- then the chances of siphoning a sample of the drug were virtually nil.

Barrett idly checked the time on the monitor where he was working, then casually moseyed to the correct email account and retrieved the file Rachel had sent him, right on schedule. He made a pretense of going through the other things she'd spammed him with, all the while pondering the situation in his head. It was possible Amelia Kinsey_ would_ remain offworld for the duration of her treatment, but he didn't think it likely. If not, he was going to have to take some precautions for her both protection and the security of the Tretonin. Unfortunately, in order to do so, he was going to have to level with the SGC about what he knew. Although, after his recent experiences with Major Carter, this didn't seem as unappealing as it would have a couple of months back.

The only question was when. And how.

* * *

Enna was like paradise. Everyday she was there, Amelia took a long walk on the surface, away from the Stargate, exploring vast stretches of luscious valley meadows and green hillsides liberally peppered with vividly-colored wildflowers. The wind was crisp and cool and the sunshine plentiful, although the days were noticeably shorter than at home.

Sometimes she went alone with a Tok'ra communicator tucked into her pocket, but sometimes Malek came with her if he wasn't too busy. Amelia was amazed at how much of the wildlife was the same as that found on Earth. Thistles, buttercups, and clover, for example, were to be found in abundance, but there were alien things too. Her favorite was a tall flower not unlike a snapdragon, except more delicate, which came in a seemingly endless array of colors.

"Do you have an interest in botany back on Earth, Amelia?" Aledar asked her as she leaned over to pick yet another daisy-like flower with scarlet petals.

She laughed. "Not seriously," she said. "I like pretty flowers as much as the next girl, but I don't have a garden or anything. My mother was always more into that."

"I see."

"What about you?" she asked, standing up and tucking wayward strands of hair back under her ears. "What's your hobby?"

Aledar looked thoughtful. "You know, I'm not sure, "he said. "Malek certainly loves his research enough to make it_ his_ hobby. It's easy for me to get caught up in his excitement."

"But there's nothing in particular that interests just_ you_?"

"I love flying, when I get the chance to do it," he confessed. "But the Tok'ra operate by clandestine means. Our only ships are Goa'uld in design, and they're usually used for infiltration or as part of ongoing undercover activity. We don't get a chance at the gliders very often."

"Again with the official Tok'ra business!" Amelia exclaimed, laughing a little. She turned around on the path and began walking slightly backwards to eye him exasperatedly. "Don't you guys ever do anything for plain and old_ fun_?"

Aledar was quiet for a moment before replying. "Occasionally," he said. "But not as much as we used to. Before, when things were quieter, we'd sometimes have time for a storytelling by one of our historians, or even music." He looked at her meaningfully. Her violin playing had been drawing a small crowd every night. She had already gotten the impression that leisure was an anomaly to these people.

"So what happened?" she asked. He seemed sad.

"Many things," Aledar replied. "The story of the Tok'ra is a long and bitter one, Amelia, and our future does not look promising. We are ultimately in danger of becoming extinct, and there are growing rifts among our numbers, as well."

Amelia slowed and looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

He paused, and his eyes lost their focus- an expression she'd come to realize he made whenever Malek and Aledar were carrying on an intense internal conversation. It was slightly unnerving. "Perhaps I'm not the best one to explain," he said at last.

He nodded his head before opening his eyes and Amelia knew she now spoke with the symbiote. "When I was on Pangar-" Malek began, "-when the Tretonin was first discovered-" he paused and looked at her. "How extensively do you know the details of that mission?"

"I only read an abridged version," Amelia said.

He nodded slowly. "The Tau'ri made a shocking discovery on Pangar," he said. "Our queen, Egeria- the first of the Tok'ra- had been trapped on that planet for thousands of years, imprisoned there by Ra when he defeated her long ago."

"Wow," said Amelia, her eyes widening. "I remember you and Doctor Fraiser talking about her, but I didn't realize..." she trailed off.

"We thought she was dead all these years," he went on. "The Pangarans discovered her in their ruins." His face was set in a deep, morose frown, and he seemed to be having some pain in telling her these things. "Not knowing any better, they used her for medical experimentation until they came up with the original version of Tretonin."

"Oh no," said Amelia softly.

"I was so angry when I found out, Amelia. So angry. The Pangarans' attitude only made me more so, because they refused to release her. I might have freed her myself but another beat me to it- my research partner, Kelmaa. She sacrificed herself so that Egeria might have a willing host."

"What happened then?" Amelia asked, awed. Forgotten were the wildflowers and the sunshine. She was riveted by Malek's tale.

"I-" he began, and cocked his head, his brow furrowed in confusion and sadness. "I spoke with her," he said, sounding close to reverential. "I never in my wildest dreams imagined the possibility. I expected she would have been angry, as I was. I expected her to be furious with the Pangarans, and desire revenge, but-"

"But what?"

"She wasn't," he said simply. He shook his head. "She even found a way to help them where I could not. She said it was the spirit of Tok'ra."

"Where is she now?"

He shook his head sadly. "She did not have the strength to live much longer, and that last blending alone nearly killed her. It's fortunate she was able to speak for only a few minutes."

"Oh, Malek, I'm so sorry."

"She said she was proud of what the Tok'ra had become, but her knowledge of us was given to her by Kelmaa's host, and Kelmaa was always more optimistic about our future than I. The last of our young have all matured. They do not remember the old days. They are proud and arrogant and_ nothing_ like Egeria. There are even some who are subtly disdainful of their own hosts. We have had trouble with spies and traitors that was never an issue in the past." He sighed. "I do not know what we are going to do. The hopelessness of our survival does not give the young ones any incentive to be selfless. We are trying desperately to salvage what we can of our way of life, and our desperation makes us more and more compromising with our ideals. The worst of it is- I was beginning to fall into this trap."

"I don't hear Aledar complaining," Amelia pointed out.

He smiled weakly. "I am fortunate. Aledar is less hot-blooded than I am. You have probably spoken more to him in the last few days than anyone has in decades. But I can assure you, he has done more than his share of private scolding."

Amelia laughed, but the pain that still lingered around him caused her expression to revert to solemnity once more. She reached out ant took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I wish I knew how to help you," she said softly.

He slowed and stopped, turning his head to look at her meaningfully. "You already have," he said, an odd expression on his face. "More than you know." Unexpectedly, he reached up with his free hand and lightly touched the side of her face, immediately causing Amelia's feminine radar to go haywire. "I have very much enjoyed your company while you were here, Amelia," he said softly. "I will miss you when you leave."

And then he kissed her. Amelia supposed she could have said she was surprised, but she would have been lying to herself. She also would have been lying if she said she objected. The Tok'ra was both extremely attractive and intelligent, and they'd developed a special sort of kinship over the past few weeks. Not only that, but Amelia was still riding on a euphoric high since she'd regained her health and the promise of life. Every experience was now more precious and more treasured and enjoyed- and she hadn't been kissed in a_ really_ long time.

Also, she'd never been kissed like_ this_. No doubt it could be partly attributed to the strong emotions Malek had just been spilling, but whatever the reason, she'd never experienced so much passion in a single gesture. It was inviting and intoxicating, almost demanding participation. Amelia dropped the wildflowers in her left hand and closed her eyes as Malek's arms circled around her, drawing her near. This close, he smelled musky and strange, but not in a bad way. His lips coaxed against hers steadily, and she reached up, unthinking, and began threading her fingers into the thick hair just above his ears.

Then, without warning, a picture swam before her eyes- warm, light green eyes alight with childlike wonder._ Jonas_.

With a sharp, shocking jolt, Amelia gasped and pulled quickly away from Malek's mouth. He frowned, looking confused and mildly hurt. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she managed, breathing hard. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head slightly, trying to clear her thoughts from their sudden sensual haze. When his look of disappointment intensified, she reached out and touched his arm. "It's not you," she said hurriedly. "It's me. I shouldn't have-"

"I don't understand."

Mortified, Amelia looked uncomfortably away, rubbing her right arm unconsciously with her left. Then she mustered her courage and looked at him squarely. "I'm flattered," she said sincerely, "but I don't want to give you a wrong impression. There was someone else I was thinking of, and...it wasn't right," she finished weakly.

He was quiet a moment, before saying, "So it is not because I am Tok'ra?"

A flare of anger rose in Amelia's chest. "No," she said defensively, narrowing her eyes. Then she closed them and took a deep breath, calming her reflexive behavior. "No," she repeated again, more slowly. "Believe me, that was the furthest thing from my mind."

His jaw relaxed slightly. "I apologize," he said humbly. "I should not have insinuated it."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," Amelia said sympathetically. "If I've given you some kind of wrong impression-"

"You have not."

"Oh."_ That_ was relieving to know. "Anyway," she went on. "You're a very good friend, Malek. I hope I haven't jeopardized that."

"No," he replied. They began walking back towards the base in silence. Despite Malek's reassurance, Amelia still felt awkward. He seemed to be slipping back into his previous formality. She sighed heavily.

"It's okay, Amelia." At the sound of Aledar's voice, Amelia looked up. He smiled at her comfortingly. "Malek is sorely disappointed," he continued, " but not bitter."

For the first time, she allowed herself to be a little bit reassured. She gave a slight smile in return. "I'm relieved," she said. Then her brow furrowed. "But what about you?" she asked, suddenly curious. "Did you-? I mean-?"

He smiled even wider. "I like you very much, Amelia. Sharing Malek's feelings for you would not have been a difficult step, but they are not so far gone yet."

"Don't you ever find this confusing?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

He nodded slowly, looking amused. "It took some getting used to," he confessed. "But it is a truly unique way to experience the universe. I wouldn't go back to the way I was before."

Amelia coughed. "Speaking of experience...how old are you exactly?"

Aledar grinned. "Seventy-three of your years," he said.

Amelia's eyes bugged and she stopped in her tracks to stare at him incredulously._ Seventy-three_?" she repeated. She had kissed someone old enough to be her_ grandfather_?

"The healing effects of a symbiote significantly extend the natural human lifespan," he explained.

Amelia was still trying to register this shocking fact. "So you've been around awhile," she nodded. "That explains plenty," she added, raising her eyebrows at him meaningfully.

"Yes, well, what can I say? I can tell you, it wasn't too bad sharing that particular experie-"

His words were cut off as Amelia slapped him lightly on the arm. "Shame on you," she chided, trying not to laugh as she flushed as red as the flowers she'd been picking earlier.

He chuckled a moment longer before sobering once more. "Don't worry too much about Malek. He's been going through a lot lately, and he was right- you've really helped him deal with some of it. As a friend," he added hastily.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Then as a friend, it has been my honor."

They finished the rest of the walk in pensive silence, and Amelia's thoughts wandered at last to Jonas. Tomorrow, hopefully, she would be seeing him again, and the thought made her both excited and nervous. She couldn't help but feel altogether eager and at the same time anxious about_ everything_ that would happen with her first steps back on Earth. Things would be different. Now, with any luck, she had a million moments to live for, and she had no idea how this change of circumstance would affect her relationship with the alien defector she so fervently admired.

* * *

**A/N: **I haven't done replies to all of your comments in a while— I apologize for that. I'll try go get caught up, but in the meantime I'm trying to finish posting this story by the end of the month so I can nominate it for the fan awards. Yeah, I suppose that's egotistical, but I guess it's better than fake humility, which I despise. ;) Nevertheless, I have to tell you all (old readers and new) how very much I love every single review and all the lovely things you guys have to say about the story!

Be prepared for a lot of updates in the next week.

Saché


	12. For the First Time

**CHAPTER TWELVE – **_For the First Time

* * *

_

_How oft when thou, my music, music play'st,  
__Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds  
__With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st  
__The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,  
__Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,  
__To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,  
__Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,  
__At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!  
__To be so tickled, they would change their state  
__And situation with those dancing chips,  
__O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,  
__Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.  
__  
__Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,  
__Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss._

Sonnet 128 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Coinciding gate times could often be a little tricky. The SGC was sending someone to pick Amelia up mid-afternoon Earth time, which translated into the crack of dawn on Enna. She was ready pretty quickly, dressed in Stargate Command BDU's that Jonas had provided along with her other things. The morning was far too chilly for any of her regular clothes.

Malek had been quieter than usual, but he'd made an effort not to withdraw from her, which made her feel less guilty over the previous day's incident. After he'd awakened her and she was packed, he gave her a box containing several vials of Tretonin and instructions for Doctor Fraiser's use in continuing Amelia's treatment. Then they met up with Councilor Kleyon and headed for the stargate. Amelia loved using the ring transporter, which reminded her of the world's shortest and weirdest amusement park ride. The small child in her secretly wished she could do it over and over again, like when she'd gone repeatedly up and down the escalators as a little girl, but since the Tok'ra were not too big on levity, she only laughed at herself and kept quiet.

As soon as the small party had emerged into the gray dawn - flanked by two guards whose names Amelia didn't know - she was immediately grateful for the warm uniform after all. The air had a distinctive chilly bite to it, but Amelia smiled despite her shiver. There was something so thrilling about the moments just before dawn - a subdued sort of anticipation, wherein serenity and excitement could be found hand in hand.

When the Stargate activated, the half-light made the glowing chevrons even more impressive, and the event horizon was so bright in contrast that Amelia was forced to squint. "I hope your time on Enna has been enjoyable, Amelia Kinsey," said Councilor Kleyon. "From what Commander Malek tells me, your success with the Tretonin is a great source of hope for both our peoples."

"I'm glad, Councilor," Amelia replied. "Thank you for your hospitality."

They watched the event horizon expectantly. A moment later, a figure stepped through, and Amelia's face broke into a wide smile when she saw that it was Jonas. She certainly hadn't expected to see _him _come to get her. "Jonas!" she greeted, a little more exuberantly than she'd intended.

Jonas's eyes found Amelia as he descended the steps, and he instantly returned her smile in kind. "Amelia," he said. "General Hammond thought you might like to see a familiar face. I'm afraid I was the best on hand."

"I'm glad you came."

"It's good to see you back on your feet. You really had me worried."

"Well, thanks to Malek here, I'm finally on the road to complete recovery," Amelia said, turning to her Tok'ra companions with a friendly smile.

"Councilor, Malek," Jonas greeted, nodding his head at each of the Tok'ra in turn. He reached into his pocket and produced a small disk. "Here are the new iris codes, as promised. They've already been programmed in."

Councilor Kleyon accepted the disk. "Thank you," she said formally. As Malek had explained to Amelia, almost every month the iris codes for the Tok'ra were updated, just as with all SG teams for security purposes. This was the reason Amelia was being picked up instead of accompanying the Tok'ra directly back to Earth.

"Can I get that for you?" Jonas asked, nodding at Amelia's bag. She handed it to him obligingly, and he slung it over his shoulder. Her violin was in the other hand. "You ready?" he asked.

Amelia nodded. "Yes." She turned back to the Tok'ra. "Thank you again," she said earnestly to Malek as Jonas began dialing the Stargate. "For everything."

He nodded his head solemnly. "I trust we will meet again soon, Amelia."

"I trust so as well. And Aledar, keep out of trouble," she added, raising her voice with a smile.

To her immense satisfaction, the smallest of smirks cracked Malek's stern features. "He says the same to you."

"Goodbye, Councilor," Amelia said to Kleyon. Then, with a shaky sigh, she picked up her violin case and turned around to face the Stargate. She and Jonas mounted the stairs together, side by side, and Amelia paused at the top. She looked sidelong at Jonas with a nervous smile. "Technically, this isn't the first time I've done this," she said, "but it sure feels like it."

Jonas finished entering his iris code before looking up admiringly at the event horizon. "Never gets old," he agreed with a nod. He looked back at her. Then, with an encouraging smile he held out his right hand. Amelia's stomach gave a flutter, and she tentatively accepted it, offering a shy smile of her own in return. Wordlessly, they stepped through the gate together.

* * *

"It's just incredible."

Amelia sat on the infirmary bed, her legs dangling over the sides, her sweater draped over her lap. "What?" she asked leaning forward to peer at the test results Doctor Fraiser was flipping through.

The doctor shook her head in amazement. "All traces of the cancer are completely eradicated. I mean, I know that was the idea, but it's still unbelievable."

"So I'm going to have to get a Tretonin shot every day for the next...four weeks?" Amelia asked.

Doctor Fraiser nodded. "And then every other day for four weeks after that and so on. We'll have to keep you close on hand for a while yet, I'm afraid, just to make sure there are no unforeseen complications."

"Thank you for all your help, Doctor."

The doctor smiled kindly. "I'm just glad you're getting better. You gave us quite a scare there, for awhile. I tried to scold Jonas for letting you play ping-pong, of all things—" here the doctor paused to raise her eyebrows disapprovingly at Amelia "—but he looked so wretched that I didn't have the heart to really chew him out."

"It was my fault, really," Amelia said, wincing.

"Well," said the doctor curtly, closing the file and laying it aside, "it's over now." She peered at Amelia for a moment, head cocked. "You know, he was in here almost every day when you were unconscious. I had trouble keeping him out from underfoot, to be honest." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully before gathering together a stack of paperwork. "You're free to go now. I'll see you in the morning at oh-nine-hundred hours." She turned, heading for her office, leaving a mystified Amelia in her wake.

Still pondering the meaning of Doctor Fraiser's cryptic words, Amelia headed down a few levels, bypassing her quarters in favor of level twenty-seven. "Is it possible I might speak with General Hammond?" she asked the guard who met her off the elevator. The guard nodded silently and headed off, and Amelia waited patiently in place until he returned, telling her it was okay to go in.

The General's office was small, but tastefully furnished. The only other time Amelia had seen it was on her initial tour of the base with Lieutenant Grogan. "Miss Kinsey," he said, getting to his feet with a smile to shake her hand. "It's good to see you on your feet. You're looking very well."

"Thank you, General."

"What can I do for you?"

"How often have you been in contact with my father? I should probably call and let him know how things are going."

Hammond nodded. "He or one of his aides usually calls once or twice a day."

"I'd like to call him myself, sir, but I don't know your security policy on this kind of thing. It's not like I'd be calling to order a pizza or something, you know?"

"Understood. Please, help yourself," he replied, holding out a hand to the phone on his desk.

"Thank you, sir," she said, picking it up tentatively. "I appreciate it." The number she dialed was private, given to those who needed to reach her father quickly.

"Coleman," answered a voice on the other end after a ring and a half.

"Jerry, it's Amelia," she said immediately. "Is my dad there?"

"He's getting ready to go into a committee meeting, Miss Kinsey. Can you call back later?"

"I think he'll want to talk to me. Just let him know who it is."

Her father's aide sighed audibly from the other end. "Very well," he said with forced patience. Amelia rolled her eyes.

A moment later her father answered. "Amelia?"

"Hi, dad."

"I thought you were… away," he said curiously. She could hear the lingering annoyance in his voice, and remembered what Malek had said about her father's resistance to sending her offworld.

"I was, but I'm back now," she said carefully. "Everything seems to be taken care of, but I'll be here for a few more weeks yet. Maybe a couple of months at the most."

He was silent a moment. "And the treatments are going well?" The question was stiff. Amelia idly wondered how much her father's staff new about her whereabouts. Likely they'd been fed the line about medical research like she at the beginning.

"Very well. I'm in good hands, dad. You can stop harassing the people here. I'll call you with updates."

"Very well. I have to go."

"Okay. Say hi to mom for me."

"Goodbye, Amelia." She heard the sounds of the connection being cut short and she pulled the receiver from her ear, making a face at it. Then she smiled weakly at the General. "Well, maybe that will give you a break for a week or so," she told him with a pointed expression.

The General gave the smallest of knowing smiles. "I can't imagine what you mean, Miss Kinsey," he said, holding out a hand politely to the door. "I'm going to be heading home for the day, so if you'll excuse me...?"

She nodded her head in thanks. Again, General, I appreciate it," she said as she headed out. "Have good evening. Now that she'd finished the tedious task of calling her father she was feeling more cheerful. Suddenly, she stopped and turned around once more. "Oh, General?"

"Yes?"

"Now that I'm feeling better..." she paused, unsure if what she was asking was too petty, "—am I allowed to leave the base? I mean just for the afternoon or something? I thought I might like to go buy some books and movies and stuff. I've got a lot of time to kill."

Hammond looked surprised. "I never thought of it," he said. "I don't see why not. I'll see what I can do for you tomorrow, if I can."

She smiled. "Okay, thanks."

She headed back to her quarters. Around the SGC, evening had always been a strange time of day. Although there was still the chance that Earth would have unexpected visitors at_ any_ hour, for the most part things were quieter. Most of the staff went home, including General Hammond. The kitchens were closed and the hallways were much less crowded.

But Jonas would still be here, as would Teal'c. She realized it must have been more than difficult to be confined here every single day. It was kind of ironic, really - as a member of SG-1, Jonas had access to the whole universe, practically, but he couldn't step out the front door of Cheyenne Mountain. No wonder he'd been so desperate for violin lessons.

Once again Doctor Fraiser's words floated through her thoughts as she headed towards her quarters. Why would she have made such a pointed effort to tell Amelia of Jonas's concern? She had to confess, the thought of it made her smile like a silly teenager, and she hugged her sweater closer to her body, giving a small skip as she exited the elevator. Was it possible he felt more than just a _friendly _concern?

The thought made for a lovely daydream, and she found herself hoping - for completely capricious and selfish reasons - that her duration at Stargate command would be longer rather than brief. She hurried her footsteps - she had a lesson to give soon and she was anxious to get there.

* * *

Jonas fiddled with his pen and stared at his notes, though he wasn't really retaining them. He looked up at the clock for the third time in five minutes. Amelia would be arriving soon. Restlessly, he glanced around the cluttered office and wondered if he should make an attempt to straighten it up a little. Then he wondered why he thought it was important. If he wanted to impress Amelia with a neat lab, it was a little too late for _that_.

He shut his notebook with authority and dropped the pen in his pencil holder, then spun slowly in his seat and ran his hands through his hair. Abruptly, he remembered that Amelia's violin books were still here somewhere under the small mountain of research notes, and he began searching for them. It took a minute to find them in the clutter. He was just picking them up and putting them in a neat pile when he heard light, quick footsteps outside his door.

Amelia breezed around the corner into the lab, violin in hand. "Hi," she said brightly. She was dressed in a graceful, knee-length skirt and white blouse, which caught him slightly off guard- especially considering the last thing he'd seen her were BDUs. She paused in the doorway to kick off her shoes.

Jonas couldn't help but return her smile. Since her return from Enna that afternoon, there had been en unmistakable spark of vigor in Amelia that hadn't been there before. "Hi yourself," he replied. He held out the books. "You left these here last time."

She accepted them smoothly. "Oh, good, thanks. We'll probably still need them." She handed him the violin case in exchange.

"How did your appointment with Doctor Fraiser go?" he asked, setting the case on the lab table.

"Excellently," Amelia said with a satisfied smile. "The cancer looks to be all gone. I still have to take Tretonin for awhile, though, but I don't mind. Are you ready to get started?"

"Yes," he said with enthusiasm, turning back to the violin case to open it. Noticing a zipper pouch on the top of he'd never paid attention before, Jonas opened it curiously and pulled out several pieces of sheet music. He flipped through them quickly, taking note of all the pieces he was familiar with from his extensive radio experience. His eyes fell on the Mozart that Amelia had been playing the first day he'd met her and his eyes lit up.

Jonas turned around. Amelia was intently concentrating on reassembling the music stand she'd somehow found amongst the things cramming his shelves. As soon as she'd finished, he stepped up behind and set the piece carefully on top of it. "Play this one," he said.

Amelia looked at him curiously. "What about your lesson?"

"We can still have a lesson, but I wanted to hear you play the second movement."

"_Everybody _likes the second movement best," she said with a laugh.

"And with good reason," he argued mildly with soft smile. "Please?" he asked. He reached over her shoulder and began flipping through the music until he reached the right place.

Amelia turned her head slightly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Okay, she said at last. Eagerly, Jonas retrieved the instrument and handed it to her, whereupon she instantly poked him playfully in the arm with the tip of the bow. "But afterwards we are _practicing_, agreed?"

He grinned. "Agreed." He sat down in his chair, settled into a relaxed slouch, and crossed his arms.

"I don't see how you can appreciate this without the orchestration," she commented as she fitted the violin to her chin. "It just isn't the same."

"Oh, I think I'll like it just fine," he said.

She proceeded to play, the sweet sound filling the corners of the lab, and Jonas wondered if Amelia had any idea just how _much _he appreciated the performance. The rest of the base - heck, the rest of the universe - didn't seem to exist for Amelia when she played. He noticed that she hardly needed to bother with the music. Clearly, she'd played it often enough to have it set to her heart. Most of the time her eyes were closed. He was often tempted to follow suit, but couldn't tear his gaze from her slender fingers, or the confident tilt of her arms, or the intense, enraptured concentration on her face as her eyes moved behind closed lids, seeing the world through melody.

"That," he said enthusiastically when she finally lowered her arms, "was fantastic."

She gave a satisfied sigh. "Thanks. Now it's your turn. No more distractions!"

If Amelia thought anything was peculiar about the way Jonas managed to zip through all the pieces in her primer books with minimal instruction, she did not at first comment. He found there was still much he didn't know - some of the finer points of fingering, for example - but the thing that made Jonas such an adept learner was that he never had to be taught something twice, and once he had a foundational grasp of anything new, his mind was often able to jump ahead and piece together the more complicated aspects on his own. Music and violin technique were the same as anything else - there was order and structure. There were patterns that Jonas was able to see and project. As such, the more Amelia showed him, the faster he was able to progress, even in the short space of time in which they worked. It also didn't hurt that he'd been studying musical theory independently in the past three weeks.

"Okay," she said at last, tossing the primer aside. "Forget that. Let's move up a notch, mostly because I'm a little curious about what you can actually do. You're like freak of nature." Jonas caught her eye sharply and she laughed. "Sorry. I meant in a good way." She pulled out another piece. "This is a Pupil's Concerto. I first played it when I was about eight."

"I can see the, uh, _scribbling_ remains consistent," Jonas said. The margins were full of notes and spidery handwriting. There was also a colorful sticker at the top of the piece, of a jack-o-lantern smiling and wearing earmuffs.

Amelia made a face. "That's not my handwriting," she said. "My second violin teacher was the most nitpicky man I've ever known in my life. Now, this piece is written in the key of—"

"D," said Jonas, nodding. Amelia paused and looked at him with raised eyebrows, and he pointed to the page. "Two sharps, F and C," he said. "This movement is written in 'common' or 4/4 time. _'Allegro moderato'_ is Italian for moderately fast." He flipped the page. "This movement, on the other hand, is written with a waltz tempo in the key of F, and is to be played _'andante cantabile'_ - that is to say—" he paused to consider his choice of words, "—play it like you're singing it," he finished awkwardly.

Amelia threw up her hands. "Holy cow, Jonas, what were you _doing _when I was away?"

He frowned slightly and shook his head in confusion. "What?" he asked. "I just did a little reading, that's all." Amelia rubbed her nose, and her shoulders began to shake with silent laughter. Jonas only frowned further. "What?" he asked again.

"Nothing," she said, still laughing. She reached over and turned the piece back to the beginning. "You are just the easiest student I've ever had, that's all."

Jonas gave her an odd look. "I thought I was your only student."

She smirked. "Okay, fine. But even if you weren't, you'd still be my favorite."

"Why?"

"Because...I'm biased." She caught his eye with a sidelong glance, then fixed her own eyes a little too deliberately back on the music. It was clear she wasn't really seeing it.

A slow realization began to spread through Jonas. "And is there any particular _reason _you're biased?" he asked carefully, his eyes not leaving her face.

She still did not look at him first, but her cheeks flushed slightly pink. "Maybe," she said lightly, her eyes sparkling and her mouth curving almost reluctantly into an embarrassed smile. Her breathing was noticeably quicker. When she finally worked up the courage to meet his gaze, he saw in her eyes several things - nervousness, courage, and an unspoken invitation.

"Then maybe," he replied slowly, taking in her hopeful features, "you're my favorite teacher, too."

He leaned down a little and touched his lips to hers - lightly at first, almost tentatively, hoping he wasn't completely mistaken in his initiative. He pulled away after the briefest of contact, lingering close to her mouth until he realized that her eyes were still closed and that she seemed neither surprised nor resistant. Then he kissed her again, more confidently this time, closing his own eyes and enjoying the sudden, blissful timelessness of the moment. Amelia was like a breath of fresh air - she had been, he realized, since the day she'd first come here - and her kiss was sweet and wholesome. It was different from anything he'd ever experienced of this sort before, and he found he quite preferred it.

He broke off gently and rested his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes. "I thought you said no distractions," he murmured lowly, teasing.

Amelia blushed bright red and hid her face in his shoulder for a moment. Then she pulled back and looked at him, still red, but she was laughing. "I know," she said. "I guess I need to work on my willpower."

Finding that the violin and bow were still in his hands, Jonas set them carefully on the table and turned back to Amelia. "Me too," he said, and cupped his hands around her face. Amelia slid her arms around his neck and soon the rest of the world seemed to slip away again, with an intensity even stronger than that of a Mozart violin concerto.

* * *

"Anyway, so there we were, dead-smack in the middle of this trade negotiation," said Jonas, holding his hand up for emphasis, "and I really should have been suspicious, because Colonel O'Neill was letting me do _way _more talking than he usually does. I was feeling pretty proud of myself. It was me who eventually reached the final agreement with their leader, Alekos, whereupon he tells me that the traditional way to seal a bargain on their planet is by performing a ceremonial dance."

"Oh no," said Amelia, looking up at him from her vantage point. Jonas really hoped Colonel O'Neill didn't make any surprise appearances, because once he and Amelia had come up for air, they'd abandoned violin lessons in lieu of conversation on the rec room sofa, and had somehow ended up in the exact same configuration they'd been so awkwardly found in several weeks ago. Jonas found it very comfortable. And yes, he decided, reflecting on his conversation with Sam, cozy _was_ a good word to describe it.

"I'm guessing this ceremonial dance wasn't very dignified," Amelia continued.

"Ah...no," Jonas agreed. "I think on Earth you call it the Chicken Dance."

Amelia burst into uncontrollable laughter and clapped her hands. "Poor Jonas!" she said, when she managed to catch a breath.

"Yeah, you seem _so _sympathetic," he said, rolling his eyes with a smile.

"No, really, I am," she said when she finally managed to calm down, though her eyes still full of unabashed mirth. She shifted slightly and raised her eyebrows. "So just how did these Argosians know the Chicken Dance?"

"They were in on it!" he said exasperatedly, causing Amelia to start laughing again.

"Argos has been friends with Earth since almost the beginning of the Stargate program. Colonel O'Neill has a lot of friends there."

"So was the trade agreement a fluke, too?" she asked, biting back another giggle.

"No, but it _was _pre-determined. Colonel O'Neill practically scripted what I was supposed to say, and he had the Argosians leader all prepped. Truth be told, we didn't even need to be there. There are other SG teams that usually handle these kinds of long-term follow-up visits, but the Argosians specifically requested SG-1 because they wanted to visit." He sobered, growing thoughtful. "They really missed Doctor Jackson," he said. "One of them is even named after him."

Amelia smiled in sympathy and took his right hand in her own, matching her fingers up to his and then threading them together, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Earlier, he'd told her the whole story of what had happened on Kelowna, and the circumstances surrounding Doctor Jackson's death. "He sounds like he was a great man," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Jonas replied.

The heavy, pensive silence stretched a few moments, but it was not uncomfortable. Amelia seemed to understand that this issue was not one Jonas was able to talk about easily, so she did not push. Finally, she pulled her hand out of his again, then peered more closely at the gold and black ring on his middle finger. "What's this?" she asked him curiously.

"It was a gift from a friend," he said.

She shifted slightly and tilted her head to peer up at him again. "A _lady _friend?" she asked mischievously.

"No," said Jonas, laughing. "A mentor," he said a moment later. "Back on Kelowna." He gazed at the ring thoughtfully, wondering how Doctor Kieran was doing, and if he should tell Amelia about him. The former scientist was still being held in a special hospital here on Earth, but his health was increasingly poor. Jonas had not been able to visit him for sometime, as he always needed someone to go with him. "It was a congratulatory gift when I graduated from the University."

"Hmmm," she said. "It does look rather scholarly, now you mention it. I like it."

Jonas glanced at his watch. It was nearly oh-three-hundred hours in the morning. "We should probably get to bed," he observed.

Amelia sighed. "Yeah," she said regretfully. "Probably. I have a doctor's appointment in the morning." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not tired, though. I think I'm still on Enna time."

"Well, if you're not too tired in the morning, want to help me out with something?"

Amelia twisted around and sat up, looking curious. "What is it?"

"I've been doing a lot of work with those ancient devices I showed you. Remember, the musical instrument?"

"Yes."

"I think I've determined how to match the colors and the tempos, but I'd like your input. Plus there's a lot of it that needs transcribed, and I really think if someone besides me takes the time to learn how to read the device, it'll go a lot more quickly. The more data we have, the sooner we'll be able to gain access to the Ancients' facility. I'm afraid if it takes too long some overeager military figure might advise we try blasting our way in instead."

"I would love to, Jonas. When can we get started?"

He grinned. "Just come find me after your appointment."

"Okay," she replied. "Jonas," she added as they both got to their feet. "Do you think General Hammond would let you leave the base if you were with me?" she asked, turning back to face him. "He said maybe I could leave to go shopping soon. I wanted to buy some new books to read. Have you ever been to a movie theater?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, then I'd really like to take you. But do you think he would?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. I doubt it, but it can't hurt to ask, right?"

"Right," she said, nodding with authority. Then she gave him a coquettish smile. "Want to walk me to my door?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "It's tradition here."

"Mmmn," he said, leaning forward and kissing her slowly. "Seems Kelowna and Earth share a lot of good traditions," he said when he pulled away.

"Cool," Amelia murmured in reply.

* * *

**A/N: **Ah…mush. ;-)

Next chapter resumes our obelisk/ music/ kaleidoscope discoveries.

Oh, incidentally, everyone extend a big general round of applause for **Domi Lys**, who's basically taken over the typing of these chapters for me. She's been a huge help. I can't even begin to thank her.

Cheers!

Saché


	13. Solfege

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN – **_Solfege

* * *

_

_Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said  
__Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,  
__Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,  
__Tomorrow sharpened in his former might:  
__So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill  
__Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fullness,  
__Tomorrow see again, and do not kill  
__The spirit of love, with a perpetual dullness.  
__Let this sad interim like the ocean be  
__Which parts the shore, where two contracted new  
__Come daily to the banks, that when they see  
__Return of love, more blest may be the view;_

_As call it winter, which being full of care,  
__Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare._

Sonnet 56 by William Shakespeare

* * *

The pain of seeing Jonas in Daniel's lab had lessened over the months. Although Sam was sure she'd never be without that little twinge of longing that hit her whenever she stepped into the room, Jonas had somehow found his own small corner in her heart, slowly and steadily easing away the resentment she'd first associated with the sight of him.

In some ways, she actually related better to Jonas, at least professionally. His knowledge of her kind of science had always been stronger than Daniel's, and intense study of Earth advances since his arrival had only made it better. His enthusiasm for learning was infectious.

Her smile, therefore, was genuine and uninhibited when she stepped through the doorway into Jonas's lab and saw him in his common oblivion. She couldn't see what he was working on, but there were several books open in front of him and a bagel on a plate by his elbow. He was idly tapping a pen in his left hand to the beat of something orchestral emanating softly from the speakers behind him. Sam shook her head. Someday she was_ really_ going to have to introduce Jonas to Pink Floyd.

"Jonas," she said, causing him to look up.

"Hey, Major," he said with a friendly smile. "How was your trip?"

"Great, thanks," she said. "The kids are getting so big!" Her visit to her brother's had been spontaneous, a decision made only on the second day of leave, but she'd very much enjoyed the five days she'd spent with him and his family. She peered thoughtfully at Jonas, wondering exactly how he spent his time when the rest of the team was off base.

"Sounds great," he said, jumping out of his chair and hurriedly shuffling some of his books around. "I've been working on something while you were gone. I'm really anxious to show you," he proceeded excitedly, beckoning briefly with one hand before resuming the shuffling.

"Actually, I just dropped by to say hi," said Sam. "I've got to check with General Hammond, get up to speed with what's been going on. Stuff like that. I'll swing by later today, okay? Maybe before lunch?"

"Okay, sure, maybe," Jonas said, glancing at his watch. "I guess that'll give us a few more hours to work while you're gone, anyway."

"Us?" Sam repeated, puzzled.

Jonas's only reply was a secret smile and a shrug. "I'll see you later, Major."

"Okay then," Sam said, giving him one more baffled, suspicious glance before she turned out of the lab again.

* * *

Amelia glanced at the clock on her wall as she slipped into her Keds. She snatched her security card and a scrunchie from the top of the bureau and dashed out the door into the hallway beyond. Pulling her hair back into the scrunchie, she hastened her footsteps. She couldn't rightly pull her hair up - there were only so many things you could do with a wig - but she could at least get it out of her face.

For the past five days, she and Jonas had worked incessantly on the obelisk project, as they now called it, and Jonas was anxious to present the results of their work to General Hammond and the rest of SG-1. The prospect was a bit daunting to Amelia. She was not, after all, officially sanctioned in any way to be helping. On the other hand, Jonas hadn't bothered to make her involvement a secret.

Hesitation aside, though, the work had been fascinating and enlightening. The music they had discovered gave her thrills - themes and patterns so alien to what she knew, breathtaking in their profound simplicity. She'd transcribed and memorized much of it already, regretful that it would likely be some time before it could be shared with the world.

Her other regret was that, with Jonas's teammates returning, things would now once more resume a semblance of reality. Since that fantastic, mesmerizing, unforgettable first kiss, they had spent nearly every moment possible in one another's company, and she found she wasn't ready to return to reality just yet. On the other hand, she'd been so happy these past few days that she wasn't sure she'd ever really be_ ready_ for it to be over, so maybe it was for the best.

General Hammond had been reluctant at first to grant Jonas permission to leave the base, something which Amelia thought was decidedly unfair. Not for nothing, though, was she a politician's daughter. With some subtle but gentle persistence, they'd finally talked him into giving them six hours out on a Wednesday afternoon. Amelia was provided with a car, Jonas with a phone, and they were told to report in every two hours.

They'd gone to the movies, as promised, whereupon Amelia learned that even aliens could pick up on and appreciate the fine art of hands not-so-accidentally brushing one another in the popcorn bag. Then she'd taken him to the park, rented two bicycles, and taught him how to ride - an experience that still brought a rather ridiculous grin to her face. The weather had been impeccable, and when Jonas finally had the hang of the bike, they'd raced long and hard around the winding bike paths, exhilarating in the rush of wind and addicting sunshine, made all the more sweet with the savor of romance.

Despite being confined to the SGC, the rest of their time had been enjoyable, as well. Amelia brought Jonas stacks of her favorite books and read portions of Dickens aloud to him every night, which he enjoyed, though he actually said he preferred Dickenson. A preference for poetry over prose was not something Amelia could relate to, but she had no objections listening to him talk about it. She was fairly certain she could listen to Jonas talk all day about_ anything_ - his discoveries, his passions, his interests - and be content with nothing more than the sound of his voice, but he offered so much more than that. Jonas was able to make Amelia open up in ways only Lydia had ever been able to before now - parts of her that she kept locked away, a habit born of a life lived under perpetual scrutiny.

Then there was the way he kissed her - tenderly, carefully, persuasively - in ways that left her stomach dancing and her head spinning for elated hours at a time. He had strong, warm hands and that_ smile_ that could disarm her from any line of thought without warning, particularly when it was directed especially at her.

Any thoughts of the future were pushed into the deepest, darkest corners of her mind in a vain hope that maybe if she ignored them, they would go away. She couldn't stay at the SGC forever and Jonas wasn't exactly an established commodity on Earth. She wasn't ready to realize the reality of a match with unequivocal obstacles such as she'd never imagined. Another reason she was dreading today.

Still, she had at least seven more weeks on base. Amelia squared her shoulders as she boarded the elevator, shoving the unpleasant thoughts away once more. She wasn't going to let them ruin her morning. If Jonas wasn't worried about it then she wasn't either.

* * *

Sam walked side-by-side with Colonel O'Neill as they stepped off the elevator at level eighteen. They'd left their briefing with Hammond together, and now looked to regroup with one of their wayward teammates. "It was the strangest thing, sir," she said. "I happened to mention lunch and he barely even noticed."

Jack's reaction did not disappoint. "That's a twist," he said. "If it was Daniel, I wouldn't be worried, but...is he feeling okay?"

"I think so, but...something's different about him." She shook her head, mystified.

"When's Teal'c get back?"

"Tonight, sometime. Late. You gonna stick around for that?"

"Yeah, I think I will. I'm all rested up. Anyway, it's not like there's much in the fridge at home right now. You?"

"Sure, I can stay."

They were approaching the doorway to Jonas's lab now, and they could hear voices from within. Voices and laughter. And music. Jack slowed his steps and paused, and an expression of quizzical curiosity came over his features as he listened.

"I think I've got this one," said a voice that was easily identifiable as Jonas's. The strange music played - soft, crystalline sounds in a simple, pretty melody.

"No, try again." At the second voice, Jack's face became even more speculative. "There was a different emphasis at the top of that last part," Amelia Kinsey continued. "Here, give it to me." After a pause, the music came again, this time with more confidence and finesse.

"Now you're just showing off," came Jonas's voice again, laughing.

"It's the only thing I've found that I'm better than you at. I have to enjoy it."

"You play the violin better than me."

"Hah," replied Amelia sarcastically. "Just give it time."

"Do you have the next part?"

"Oh, it's on a disc - over here. Hang on, I'll get it."

Jack had apparently had his share of eavesdropping. He moved forward, Sam following his lead. When they stepped into the doorway, neither Jonas nor Amelia seemed to be aware of their approach. Jonas's back was turned, watching Amelia with his arms crossed as she skirted the edge of the table, heading for the opposite end of the room. As she passed him, Jonas reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her close to him. Then, to Sam's utter astonishment, he kissed her swiftly and softly. Amelia gave a surprised sort of sound at first, but then she smiled and complied, giggling against Jonas's lips before yielding. Jack and Sam could only stare, dumbfounded.

It wasn't necessarily the fact that Jonas had kissed - or rather,_ was_ kissing - Amelia that was surprising. It was more the obvious familiarity he had with doing so. What had they been _doing_ all week? Then there was the fact that he was being flirty - a role Sam had certainly never attributed to Jonas, and one that would take more than a little getting used to. She risked a glance at Jack, who was making a comical expression of uncomfortable disgust. He returned Sam's glance and made a 'yikes' face before turning back to the scene before them.

Jack cleared his throat loudly, and the enamored couple jumped slightly, breaking off and turning around to stare at the intruders with surprise. Amelia stepped lightly away from him and the pair turned to face Jack and Sam fully. They both looked amusingly sheepish.

"Colonel," said Jonas, quickly regaining his composure. "Welcome back. Did you have a nice leave?"

"Yes, but apparently not as nice as yours."

While Sam suppressed her urge to laugh - Jack sometimes got his fun in the strangest places - the Colonel turned his gaze to Amelia, laughter in his eyes. "Miss Kinsey," he finally said, "I hate to interrupt, but I need my socio-political nerd back now." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at the girl. Amelia blushed profusely.

For the first time, Sam recognized the source of the music - the handheld device Jonas had recovered from the ruins on P3X-651. What in the world was_ Amelia_ doing with it? "Jonas," said Sam, instinctively knowing something was going on with greater weight than two flirting young people, "what was it you wanted to tell me about?"

* * *

General Hammond was_ not_ pleased.

"Mr. Quinn, you know better than this! Do I need to remind you of the sensitive nature of your work? You can't just let a civilian have such blatant access to such sensitive details of our work here! There are protocols, clearances—"

Sam hadn't seen Jonas look so uncomfortable since those first few weeks he'd been on base. "I'm sorry, General," the young man began earnestly. "She had clearance, and it wasn't a mission in any way connected with—"

"That's not your call, Jonas," said Jack soberly. Standing beside Sam, he seemed unusually subdued. She could sense his surprise and disappointment.

"Her clearance did not extend to this situation, and I think you probably knew that," General Hammond added.

Jonas sighed and hung his head for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. "General, Colonel," he began again, looking up between them. "I'm truly sorry. You're right, I should have realized that there were protocols involved. I was just so caught up in the work. General, Amelia's brought us a lot farther on this project than you probably even realize. As soon as we figured out the connection between the colors and the music, it only made sense to enlist her help. It's likely she knows more about music structure and patterns than anyone else on this base, and—"

"Son," said General Hammond, holding up a hand, "I'm not arguing with you. But my point still stands. Jack's right. It was not your decision to make." He sighed, and looked around uncomfortably. "Besides, we still have to take into consideration who she's related to."

Jonas's eyes flashed defensively. "That's ridiculous. Amelia would_ never—_"

"We're done here," said General Hammond, giving Jonas a warning glance. "Please exercise a little more discretion in the future, Mr. Quinn. As for your discoveries, I don't deny they will be useful. I may even consider allowing Miss Kinsey to further participate in the project, but first I want to review your work more myself and make an informed decision. Until such time, she's to have nothing more to do with this. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Looking sadder than a lost puppy, Jonas turned and departed without a word.

Jack and Sam exchanged uncomfortable glances, and after giving Jonas an adequate head start, followed in the direction he'd gone.

"This wouldn't have happened if we'd been here," Jack said.

"I know, sir. But you know how excited he gets. He probably _didn't_ stop to consider. And his obvious attraction to Amelia probably didn't help, either."

"Hah. Yeah. Something's up with Jonas, eh?" Jack asked, with a somewhat lighter tone.

Sam smiled slightly. "Right," she said, then added, "you didn't really have to embarrass them like that, sir."

"Of course I did," he said defensively. "They embarrassed me first." He sighed. "Well, unless liplock means something totally different back on ol' Kelowna, I'd say we've officially moved from speculation to...dammit," he concluded with a scowl.

Sam chuckled softly. "I think it's sweet," she defended bravely.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "You mean besides the whole going against protocol bit?" He held up an indignant finger as they approached the elevator once more. "No, Carter. Not sweet. Annoyingly saccharine, maybe, but...this is bad."

"Because of Kinsey?"

"Yes, because of Kinsey." He swiped his card into the reader vehemently.

"Frankly, sir...don't you think that's their problem?"

Jack made a face but did not reply. Instead, as they boarded the elevator, he said, "I just hope he didn't sleep with her."

"Colonel!" Sam exclaimed, half incredulous, half laughing.

"Well!" he said defensively. "You don't know what they've been up to."

"It's none of your business."

"Jonas is a member of my team. If his life is in danger from ratty, vengeful Senators it certainly_ is_ my business."

By this time Sam was aware that Jack's whining was mostly just theatrical and no doubt intended for her benefit. The truth was, once she got past the embarrassed feelings of intrusion, the memory of the enjoyment on the two younger peoples' faces was leaving her feeling a little bit wistful and envious. The fact that she'd witnessed it with Jack, of all people, certainly didn't help matters.

"Kinsey is in Washington D.C.," she said encouragingly as the doors slid closed before them and the elevator began descending. "Far away, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Let's just hope it stays that way."

* * *

It felt wrong, Jonas thought, giving the briefing without Amelia. Although he understood General Hammond's disappointment, and even his point of view, but it didn't change the fact that this work was as much hers as it was Jonas's. Nevertheless, it needed doing, and he was the one to do it, with a little help from Sam.

Jonas's arms were laden with folders, which he immediately began distributing amongst the assembled personnel - consisting of SG-1, SG-8, and a few other scientists and geologists. General Hammond entered the briefing room from his office, shutting the door behind him. Major Carter likewise shut the door to the hallway.

"SG-1 and SG-8," General Hammond greeted as he sat down. "Thank you for coming. Jonas Quinn and Major Carter have come up with some interesting theories concerning the artifacts of PX3-651. Mr. Quinn?" he said, nodding at Jonas.

"Thank you, General." Major Carter inserted a disc into a nearby computer and turned on a display screen at the far end of the room with a remote control. The image that popped up was of the Ancient headset that had become so familiar to Jonas of late, followed by another of the hand device. "These devices," she said, "were recovered by Jonas and SG-8 a few days after the initial survey of PX3-651, their second visit to the planet. They were brought back to the SGC for study."

Major Carter pushed a button again, and the screen changed. "As far as we were able to tell, the headgear device did nothing more than produce streams of holographic images visible to the wearer. These are graphical depictions of the sequences." The screen now showed several smaller windows, each showing the flowing patterns of shifting color that Jonas could almost now subconsciously set to music on his own. Major Carter pushed another button and more variations appeared. "To date, Jonas has managed to catalogue over three-hundred distinct sequences," she said. Then she handed the remote to Jonas.

He accepted it and proceeded to the next slide. "We knew fairly early on that these devices were somehow connected, their purpose to gain access to the Ancient power crystal manufacturing sites, as described in the holocube that also came with the devices," he said.

"With a little bit of outside help, we figured out that the spectral colors in the graphic displays were representative of musical sequences, and the handheld device is used to create the necessary musical tone. The 'passcode' the obelisk is asking for is musical," Jonas concluded.

"How can you be certain?" Teal'c asked.

"Well, we can't be. Not for certain. Not until we test our theories, but it makes sense."

"Taken in context of everything we've found on the planet," Sam said, "it actually makes a_ lot_ of sense. I read through Jonas's notes on the device. There are certain observations that support his theory. For example, in the complete body of variations, they have only identified twelve distinct hues of color that are ever used."

"Why is that significant?" General Hammond asked.

"Because there are exactly twelve pitches in a chromatic scale before it begins again, Jonas said. "If each color represents a particular pitch—" he trailed off meaningfully.

"It's even more straightforward than that," Major Carter said. "I believe the wavelength of each color is directly correspondent to the wavelength of the pitch it represents. The color red has the lowest frequency in the visible light spectrum. Likewise, the pitch we call C natural has the lowest frequency musically."

"When white light is split, it forms a band of seven colors," Jonas continued. "Likewise, there are seven pitches in a major scale, and if Major Carter is correct, they would line up something like..." He paused the flowing images on the screen and pointed with his hand at the rainbow color in order. "Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti."

"...a deer, a female deer," Colonel O'Neill muttered as he doodled something on his notepad. There was a pause as everyone turned to look at him, and he looked up.

"What? It's a good song."

Jonas didn't get the chance to ask what the Colonel was talking about, as Doctor Weythe chose that moment to speak up. "I think you're right," he said from further down the table. "We've found several other artifacts that were suspected of being instruments of some kind, including two more of those handheld devices."

Jonas was nodding again. "It might be that these Ancients, whatever their history, had made music an integral part of their culture and society, in ways more than just recreational."

"So it's a musical lock, like in the Willy Wonka movie?" Colonel O'Neill asked, leaning forward skeptically.

"We believe so, sir, yes. None of our other ideas have even come close to activating the obelisk's function. Assuming it's still capable of working, that is."

"Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say you're one-hundred percent right about this," Colonel O'Neill continued. "How the heck are we supposed to know what 'code' to use?" He made quotation marks with his fingers as he spoke.

"Once I understood the pattern of the musical notation system," Jonas said, "I was able to understand parts of the holocube's information that didn't make sense before. When the obelisk prompts for a passcode, it plays a stream of graphics similar to those you see with the headphones, except in the case of the obelisk, the pattern is totally random. The holocube indicates the handheld device is to be used to open the door, using specific types of harmonies in conjunction with the notes the obelisk projects. It's just a matter of knowing how to read the music, sir."

"And do you know how to do that, Jonas?" Colonel O'Neill asked, raising his eyebrows in speculation.

"I do, Colonel. With a little more study, I'll be even better."

"Then study as hard as you can," said General Hammond, rising to his feet. "As soon as you're confident enough, I want to try and get this thing open. I'm sure you'll all agree that we can benefit greatly from an increased knowledge of crystal technology. Dismissed."

With a swift glance at his teammates, Jonas quickly took the opportunity to follow General Hammond to his office. "General?"

"Yes, Jonas?"

He could sense the rest of SG-1 lingering in the doorway, though he didn't meet their eyes. "It was Miss Kinsey who helped me learn so much about music, General. She knows as much about this technology as I do. If you let her continue helping me, this will go a lot faster."

Jonas could see that this issue was still a sore spot for the General, but he also knew that his argument held weight. There was a moment of tense silence as SG-1 stared at the contemplating General. Jonas held his breath.

At last, Hammond nodded slowly, albeit with some reluctance. "Very well. But her role in this is only to instruct. I want no information divulged to her about the goals of this mission, or_ anything_ beyond her place as a technical advisor. You may go now, Jonas."

"Thank you, General." Feeling very satisfied, Jonas grinned happily at his teammates and went to find Amelia.

* * *

**A/N:** I was very happy with the team tension that came out of this chapter. I thought the fact should be addressed that in a situation such as this, random civilians wouldn't just be allowed to get involved in top secret projects on a whim.

Dear nice person who asked me about the nomination… mullute? I'm so sorry, I deleted your messages not realizing that they were PMs and not replies that I could find later online. Thank you very much for your very nice words, and don't worry about the nomination. It doesn't qualify till the whole story is posted, anyway, so I have to focus on that first.

Another update in a couple hours…

Saché


	14. Under the Mountain

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN – **_Under the Mountain

* * *

_

_When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd  
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;  
When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd,  
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;  
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain  
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,  
And the firm soil win of the watery main,  
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;  
When I have seen such interchange of state,  
Or state itself confounded to decay;  
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate  
That Time will come and take my love away.  
__  
This thought is as a death which cannot choose  
But weep to have that which it fears to lose._

Sonnet 64 by William Shakespeare

_

* * *

_

It was almost six full weeks after General Hammond had asked SG-1 to try and access the Ancients' underground facility before Jonas finally felt confident enough to try.

His progress had not been without delay. There were other missions scheduled, of course, and some spontaneous as well; Doctor Fraiser had kept both Jonas and Sam abed for three days after an unexpected encounter with Niirti and a gene-splicing machine. And still Jonas had spent nearly every minute he could spare with Amelia and the Ancients' musical key, learning from her as often as they learned together.

"So, Jonas," said Colonel O'Neill with would-be casualness as Sam threaded her way through the obelisk's holographic menus with the proficiency of a well-worn habit, "do you have any idea exactly what will happen if we get this to work?"

"We'll have access to the facilities in the mountain."

"Yes, I know that part," the Colonel continued with exaggerated patience. "I'm talking about _how_." He pointed some several hundred feet beyond them, where the trees, rocks, and earth began to incline in earnest, marking the place where the brazen mountainside began. "Mountain's still quite a ways off for this to be the door, don't you think?"

Jonas shrugged. "Couldn't tell you, sir. I guess the folks who ran this place just took that part for granted."

"Oh, swell." The Colonel muttered. He tightened his grip on his gun and glared, almost accusing, at the ground, as if he expected it to swallow him up.

"That's it, Jonas," Sam announced, stepping back from the interface as the familiar stream of a pulsing, holographic rainbow blossomed into life before their eyes.

Nodding, Jonas took a deep breath and threaded his fingers into the instrument. He'd gotten a good deal of practice, thanks to Amelia's 'sheet music,' at reacting almost automatically to the fluctuations of the colors and pulses. Less certain was whether or not he'd interpreted the instructions for 'reading' the music correctly, and how to play along.

"Well," he said, "here goes nothing."

Though the individual sounds that emitted from the device were beautiful enough, together they formed a rather discordant whole. More discouraging, though, was that after a full thirty seconds of playing, there seemed to be no indication that anything was happening. And try as he might, Jonas just couldn't see how anyone who'd designed this system would want to stand around forever just to clock in every morning.

"Who wrote this?" Colonel O'Neill finally said, breaking the bated silence. His eyebrows were set in a kind of mildly pained expression, as if his shoes were too tight. "It really sucks."

"That's because this is just the harmony," Jonas advised knowingly, nodding at the colors still streaming before him. "I'm playing against what's written, but to really appreciate it, you'd have to hear them both—" he trailed off, eyes widening, for at last the music seemed to have borne reaction.

A musical reply was emanating from the obelisk, deeper than the crystal-light tones of Jonas's key, but the perfection of the two sounds together 'caused him to chill all over. "— together," he finished lamely, transfixed.

"Now, see, that's—" the Colonel began, but his appreciation was cut short by yet another sound, one that it took Jonas a full half second to recognize, because this was certainly the last place he'd expected to hear it.

By the time he turned around, the rings were already whisking back into the underground. "Teal'c!" he shouted, barely catching a glimpse of the jaffa within them. He stopped playing.

Colonel O'Neill, meanwhile, was still clutching a shocked-looking Sam, who it seemed he'd pulled out of the path of the rings just in the knick of time. "Now, see!" he shouted. "That's what I'm talking about! A nice warning sign: 'Rings here!' would have been very useful!"

Jonas was frantically working this unexpected development into a mental equation— which involved the conclusion that the rings must have been invented by the Ancients in addition to the stargates— and gave a slight start when the Colonel ordered him to try again. The obelisk had defaulted to its standard settings after the rings had activated, leaving Sam to navigate the menus again, while Colonel O'Neill tried to reach Teal'c on the radio. To the relief at all, he answered almost immediately.

"I am here, O'Neill. I am unharmed."

"Where are you?"

"I appear to be in a corridor of some kind, and I believe it must be of Ancient design."

"Well, hows-about you jostle back up here and we all figure this out together?" Jack advised.

"I am not certain how to activate the rings from my present position," Teal'c said. "There is another console here, like that of the obelisk. My guess is that the key is required to exit as well as enter."

Colonel O'Neill seemed hesitant. By now, Sam had once again pulled up the musical passcode screen, but Jonas was waiting for the Colonel's decision before proceeding. "I hate the idea of us being stuck down there without being able to get back up," the Colonel finally confessed.

"Teal'c's right, Colonel," said Jonas. "I don't see any reason why getting out shouldn't be the same as getting in. I say we go."

"And on the off chance it doesn't work," Sam added, "there may very well be more than one way out of there. Besides, if we're not back home in a few hours, General Hammond will call us through the Stargate, and the radio signal still seems to be coming strong from wherever Teal'c is." She gestured to her radio for emphasis. She gave a soldier's grin. "If we can't find out way out, we can always have the marines just make us one."

Colonel O'Neill shook his head and gave a heavy sigh. "Okay, fine," he said. As the three of them gathered together tightly where they now knew the rings to be, he muttered, "Children," under his breath with a sort of exasperated fondness. Jonas knew why he said it. Sam was of the same mind as Jonas in this matter. No bout of overcaution was going to compensate for their desire to follow Teal'c to the brink of further exploration.

"Heads up, Teal'c, we'll be with you shortly," Colonel O'Neill advised into his radio. Then he nodded at Jonas. "Hit it, maestro."

True to form, the Colonel made sure they could get back before he allowed them to go any further. Once Teal'c showed them the console he'd found, it didn't take Jonas and Sam long to determine that they could indeed get it to work. Only then did Colonel O'Neill allow them to proceed.

The tunnel itself was in fairly good repair for being hidden countless millennia. Dry, smooth, and gray, it was lined with blue running lights that lit up as the team approached and turned off again once they were far enough away. Also running the length of the tunnel's floor, beginning and the ring platform and heading in the direction of the mountain was what could only be some sort of rail.

"Subway tunnel," Colonel O'Neill observed with interest.

"I'd say so, sir," Sam agreed. "We must be a fair ways down. Major Lars's team did resonance scans for a good two hundred feet at least, and they didn't pick up anything like this."

"Power still seems to be working. So where's the train?"

"We must have missed it, sir. We'll have to wait for the next one."

"Funny, Carter." He gestured boldly down the tunnel. "Onward and upward, then! And let's hope this thing's not been running on automatic pilot for the past… Carter, how long you figure it's been since someone else was here?"

"We have no idea. Several thousand years at least."

"Yeah, well, I don't fancy being turned into SG-1, sunny side up. What are the odds the train's still running?"

"Not very high, Colonel. Besides, there seems to be allowance for pedestrians."

They walked for a good three miles, with little change. Only intermittent consoles broke the monotony, some like the one they'd first encountered, others different. None of them seemed to have a ring platform, though, so the team didn't spend much time investigating them.

At length they found Colonel O'Neill's train, which was, to the quiet relief of all, dormant and immobile. Sleek, and with many darkened windows, it reminded Jonas greatly of the famous Japanese bullet trains.

"Sweet," he commented. "I wonder if it still works."

"Maybe we can bum a ride back?" Colonel O'Neill quipped.

"Hey, that's a long walk."

"Yeah, and the gravity here's really starting to—"

"— sir, please don't say it," Sam cut him off as they began progressing beyond the rail car.

"Say what?"

"Don't say the gravity here is really weighing you down."

The silence that followed communicated clearly enough the Colonel's slight disappointment and annoyance, to which Jonas could only surmise that Sam had pegged him correctly. He exchanged slightly amused expressions with Teal'c before they returned to the task at hand.

Just past the sleeping train they finally encountered something more interesting than the monotonous tunnel. Though the track continued on in the darkness, disappearing around a wide curve, the team members focused their attention on getting through the wide double-doors to the right of the track. Around them, the platform became much wider, and the ceiling taller, so that it was easy to surmise this place had been an important thoroughfare.

Fortunately, they did not end up needing to use the musical key to open every door. This far into the facility, the doors seemed willing enough to open, either automatically as their presence was detected, or with a little bit of finagling with various kinds of security keypads, which Sam and Jonas were quick to decipher between them.

The complex was vast, and had obviously been a very busy and multi-functional. It wasn't until Sam found a holographic map, though, that they were able to make any real headway.

"It looks as though these rooms are part of a large ring of offices and labs that form a perimeter around the central manufacturing area, here," she said, pointing at a large, roughly dome-shaped area that was reddish-colored on the map. "The subway system, if you will, runs in a circle around it, to make it easier for someone to get from place to place." She turned to Colonel O'Neill. "Sir, we should keep heading inward and try and get into this main chamber. I have a feeling that's what we're really looking for with regards to the crystal technology."

"Okay, but before long we're going to have to report back to base," Colonel O'Neill advised.

"Sir, there's so much to see here and the Stargate is really far away. Isn't it possible I could stay here and—?"

"No way, Carter. We'll try and find your central chamber, but nobody knows how to operate that key except Jonas, and he can't be on both sides of the rings. We can tell Hammond that we're going to need more time and more people and come back tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Jonas and Sam studied the map carefully before they proceeded, trying to determine the quickest way to the center and hoping there wouldn't be any insurmountable security barriers before they got there.

"According to the map, this should be the last room," Sam announced after they'd been exploring for another good half hour. The lights came on automatically as they stepped inside the new chamber, but they'd become so used to this that nobody really paid attention. Jonas immediately decided it was some kind of important laboratory. It was long, with a tall ceiling, and was filled with many high counters and important-looking pieces of machinery. In fact, the only thing about the room that wasn't downright fascinating was that—

"Are you certain, Major Carter?" Teal'c finally asked.

Sam nodded. "The center chamber should be on the other side of that wall," she said, pointing to their left.

"They must be good at hiding doors," observed Colonel O'Neill.

Sam did not reply, but walked forward and began examining the wall intently, as if willing it to give up a secret. "I don't see anything that looks like a disguised door," she said. "But then again, nothing on the map said there'd be one. I guess this just wasn't the right way. We'll have to try something else tomorrow."

Jonas, Teal'c, and Colonel O'Neill, meanwhile, had followed her, fanning out among the aisles of the lab, peering curiously at all its strange devices. Jonas was examining something he suspected to be another kind of computer terminal, and wondering how to turn it on, when Colonel O'Neill called from the far end of the room.

"Hey, come here. This looks familiar." As the Colonel didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular, Sam, Jonas, and Teal'c all joined him, filling in beside him to examine what it was that held his rapt attention.

"Oh, wow," Sam breathed, setting aside another Ancient gadget she'd been examining and leaning closer. "It looks like a DHD, doesn't it?"

"That would be my guess," said Colonel O'Neill.

"Indeed," added Teal'c. Jonas agreed as well, but it was certainly the strangest DHD he'd ever seen. The console was translucent, and the arrangement of the blocky chevron symbols was more square than the traditional DHD. But there was no mistaking the symbols they were looking at.

Now it was Colonel O'Neill's turn to look around at the walls with suspicion. "So… where's the stargate?" he asked.

Sam shook her head. "From everything I know about gate technology, sir," she said, "having a second gate underground would be pointless with the other one so close. Unless the Ancients had some means of switching between gates to make one dominant and then another."

"But then why would they go through all the trouble of the security at the obelisk, the rings, and the tunnel system for transportation?" Teal'c pointed out.

"I'm sold," Colonel O'Neill said.

"So what else could it be?" Jonas finally asked.

Sam seemed hesitant. "It could be possible," she said, "that this is some kind of remote gate dialing device. I know we've never seen it before, but there's really no reason to believe a stargate can't be controlled by more than one DHD."

"So, they liked to get the stargate nice and warm before they had to go outside in the winter?" Colonel O'Neill asked.

Sam smiled. "Something like that, sir."

"Should we try it?"

"I'd rather try it tomorrow, with another team at the gate for confirmation."

"Good thinking." Colonel O'Neill looked at his watch. "On that note, we should be heading back."

It wasn't until they were outside and halfway back to the gate that they heard a familiar sound that caused them all to stop in their tracks. Jonas and Sam exchanged nervous looks and Colonel O'Neill swore loudly.

"O'Neill, I believe that sounds like—"

"Yah. I know, Teal'c," the Colonel interjected. He gave a huge, disgusted sigh. "Looks like this party's over."

Another familiar whine thundered over their heads, and as one they craned their necks upwards to see the ominous wingspan of a death glider whiz by.

The Goa'uld had come to PX3-651 at last.

* * *

For whatever reason, Amelia couldn't help but think of Jonas and his teammates more than she usually did on this mission. Perhaps it was because of all the help she'd given them in transcribing the Ancient music. There was part of her that badly wanted to be with them, but she'd been wise enough to know that asking such a thing would have been out of question. To make matters worse, with Jonas gone, there were very few people on the base who she could really talk to, and those friends she had made—such as Doctor Fraiser—were usually too busy with their jobs to really have time for her.

On the other hand, it wasn't as though her professional time with the doctor was in any short supply. Several hours after SG-1's departure, Amelia turned up in the infirmary for her daily Tretonin treatment. Doctor Fraiser seemed busy and focused, not saying much beyond polite courtesies, and at last Amelia could keep silent no longer. "I don't know if I'm allowed to ask you this," she began uncertainly as Doctor Fraiser put a cotton ball and a bandage over her arm with practiced ease, "but has there been any news of SG-1?"

The doctor stared at her for half a moment, seemingly caught off guard. Then, coming to herself, she smiled a little. "No, sorry" she said. "They've not due to report back just yet."

"I see."

Doctor Fraiser tried to give her an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. You get used to the waiting."

Amelia nodded and exhaled. "I know. It's just that Jonas and I have worked so hard on this, that it's frustrating not to be a part of it."

"I can imagine," Fraiser said, nodding. "So," she added as she finished putting away her supplies. She snuck a sidelong smile towards Amelia, her eyes sparkling. "You and Jonas have been spending a lot of time together on this project."

The comment was so nonchalant and unexpected that all the embarrassment Amelia thought she'd conquered came rearing up once more. She felt the entire upper half of her body flush hotly. Her next reaction was panic, and she turned with wide, alarmed eyes to the doctor, wondering suddenly if the question was of a professional nature, and not just mere curiosity. "You don't think—" she began, stuttering. "I mean, if you're asking if we've—" Now her flush was brightening. "Because we haven't," she finished weakly.

To Amelia's relief, Jonas had never seemed to expect anything of her that she wasn't willing to give, and intimacy was something she wasn't willing to give to anyone but a husband. They had never discussed the matter, yet he had never seemed to expect they should, leaving her to wonder if he had his own inner set of mores with which he complied.

"Well, that's not what I was asking," Doctor Fraiser said, obviously amused. "But since you brought it up, I must say I'm glad to know you're being careful."

"Doctor—"

"Please, call me Janet."

"Okay. Um, Janet, do you know if Jonas has—" She paused. Dating didn't seem exactly the right word to describe her relationship with Jonas "—has been interested in any other Earth girls since he's been here?" she concluded.

Janet looked thoughtful. "Not that I know of, but of course he doesn't tell me everything. As I'm sure you know, Jonas is very rarely permitted to leave the base, so anything of that sort is obviously going to be difficult."

"He's still uncomfortable here, sometimes," Amelia said knowingly, fiddling with a piece of lint on the blanket beside her.

"How do you mean, exactly?" Janet asked, peering at her curiously.

Amelia considered her words. "Well, I'm just guessing, really," she confessed. "And when I say uncomfortable, I don't mean unwelcome," she continued, slowly, thinking hard. "It's just… his uncertainty about the long term, you know? Surely no one expects him to live on this base forever."

The other woman sighed. "I don't pretend to understand it. It's a complex issue, one that we've had to deal with on a case by case basis with the handful of people we've had from other worlds. My daughter, for example—" she paused and looked at Amelia curiously "—did you know she's from another planet?"

"You're kidding!" Amelia exclaimed, shocked. "How did that happen?"

"Five years ago now," Janet said. "One of the Goa'uld System Lords tried to use her against us. It's—" she paused, looking pained. "Honestly, you don't want to know all the details, but Cassie—my daughter—was the only survivor of her planet. As a minor and an uncontested refugee, it wasn't difficult to find her a place on Earth, even under the current American law."

"You mean there's no subsidiary code dealing with stargate issues?" Amelia asked with a wry smile.

Janet laughed. "Ah, no," she said. "Jonas, on the other hand…" She pursed her lips. "With him, it's trickier. His case is more about asylum than refuge. The circumstances are different. In some ways he's fallen into a legal crack—there are no laws to cover parts of it."

"I guess I never really stopped to think about it."

"As I said. Complicated."

"Yeah, no kidding."

They chatted a while longer before Amelia departed to let the doctor get some work done.

It wasn't until a little while later, after she'd eaten and had returned to her quarters, that the gate activated without warning. Standing halfway in her doorway, Amelia turned towards the sound of the alarms, instinct somehow telling her that this meant trouble for SG-1.

* * *

**A/N: **Dum-da-DUM! Now the action begins in earnest. Pretty exciting stuff, though I say it myself. :-)

Cheers!

Saché


	15. Change of Plans

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN – **_Change of Plans_

_Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul _

_Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, _

_Can yet the lease of my true love control, _

_Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. _

_The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, _

_And the sad augurs mock their own presage; _

_Incertainties now crown themselves assured, _

_And peace proclaims olives of endless age. _

_Now with the drops of this most balmy time, _

_My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, _

_Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, _

_While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes: _

_And thou in this shalt find thy monument, _

_When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent._

Sonnet 107 by William Shakespeare

* * *

"Take cover!" Colonel O'Neill ordered. Jonas followed Teal'c, trusting in the jaffa's instincts. The team made a beeline for the nearest copse of trees. They had already emerged from the small forest that hid the obelisk from view by air, meaning their present cover was not quite as good. Once Colonel O'Neill reached the trees, he took extra precaution by crouching low to the ground amongst a cluster of low and prickly shrubs. Jonas battled with one that was tried to lay claim to his right sleeve as Colonel O'Neill pulled out his binoculars.

"What do you think, Teal'c?" Colonel O'Neill asked.

"I am unsure. Based on the behavior of the gliders, it is unlikely they are aware of our presence." More death gliders had been sweeping their position since they'd spotted the first.

"Until they turn on those handy life signs detectors," Jack mumbled, scanning the horizon slowly with the binoculars. "And if front-line-Joe didn't see us running and report us to his buddies." He lowered the binoculars and frowned. "I don't see any ground troops. One thing's for sure, though, those gliders didn't come by stargate."

"They probably sensed that the force field protecting this planet's stargate is finally down," Sam observed. "They must have come to check it out."

"Which means Papa or Mama Goa'uld might not be far behind."

"Whether they are here for conquest or mere curiosity, they will certainly seize control of the stargate as soon as possible," Teal'c added.

"Well, we knew it was too good to last," Colonel O'Neill said, once more scanning the horizon with vigilant precision. "Now how do we get home?"

"Sir, we can't let the Goa'uld get access to the Ancients' mountain," Sam said. Jonas could hear the bitter resignation in her voice. He could understand her disappointment. The reality was heart-sickening.

The Colonel lowered the binoculars again to stare at her, his mouth a thin line. "Carter, our best chance of getting around any Goa'uld defense of the gate is to leave _right now_, before this place gets too crowded."

"I have an idea about that, sir, but it'd be a risk."

"Go on."

"If that second DHD we found in the lab _is_ capable of remotely dialing the stargate, we can keep the gate open from inside the mountain for as long as we want, provided we keep our eye on the thirty-eight minute window. We can radio General Hammond, and tell him to prepare reinforcements, and stay in radio contact until we've perfected our strategy. In the meantime, we plant as much C4 as we can in key points within the mountain complex, to remote detonate when we finally make our way back to the gate." She held her breath when she'd finished, straining mentally for the Colonel's approval.

Jonas could see how deeply the Colonel was torn. "_If_ we can remote dial the stargate," he repeated, grimly.

"Well, there's a chance that if that isn't what it's already wired to do, I could maybe rig something up," Sam offered.

"And somehow I doubt we have enough C4 to take down an entire mountain cavern system, Carter, particularly one built by the Ancients."

"So forget the C4. Sir, that place obviously still has power. Where there's power, there's a way to make something explode."

"You keep the gate tied up long enough, they're going to send more ships."

"Sir, I cannot stress enough how important it is that the Goa'uld don't get their hands on this place. I've already seen two or three examples of Ancient technology we've _never_ encountered before, and the last thing we need right now is for the Goa'uld to get another technological advantage over us."

Colonel O'Neill was silent a long time as he considered. When they finally heard the sounds of ground troops— distant, but getting nearer— he nodded. "All right, Carter. Let's just hope we don't all die of _if_."

The race back to the obelisk was frenzied. The team tried to maintain a balance between speed and stealth. Sometimes Colonel O'Neill took up a light jog; sometimes merely a brisk walk. Nevertheless, they were all quite winded by the time they reached their destination. Jonas's legs felt as heavy as weapons-grade naquada, and he thought for sure that his bag must be holding something more than the usual offworld gear.

They had just arrived at the obelisk when the familiar blast of a staff weapon scorched the ground near its base, causing Jonas to jump. As one, the team turned. Trudging through the forest foliage, Jonas could see at least four jaffa making their way toward the team as fast as their cumbersome armor would allow.

"Carter, Jonas, get that thing turned on!" Colonel O'Neill bellowed, and he and Teal'c immediately commenced defensive fire against the upcoming onslaught.

By this time Sam and Jonas had become quite adept at the process of activating the Ancient interface, and though the moments when Jonas was entering the passcode seemed to last forever, it was really less than a minute before he was able to holler to his teammates to gather themselves where the rings would activate.

"Carter," said Colonel O'Neill as soon as they found themselves in the dark quiet of the tunnel, "can they access these rings from a mother ship?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, let's not stay and find out. We need to find a more defensible position."

"Sir, even if they can't use this ring transport, they're not just going to leave the obelisk area alone. It's going to be swarming with jaffa," Sam pointed out as they resumed a near-running walk down the tunnel.

"I'm aware of that Carter. Let's just hope the Ancients built some sort of secret back door to this place."

"I don't think—"

"No," said Colonel O'Neill, glancing aside at her in warning, "there's _always_ a backdoor."

When they reached the DHD room again, Sam immediately unslung her bag and began looking around at the consoles, intent. "Look for something that might turn on the lights," she said to Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c. "Jonas, I'll probably need your help reading some of this stuff."

"First try dialing the gate," said Colonel O'Neill.

"Colonel, I it's possible that—"

"No time, Carter. Just try it."

"Yes, sir."

Cautiously, Sam stepped up behind the foreign-looking DHD. Jonas was close behind her. Though the transparent keys were both designed and configured oddly, the symbols on them could not be mistaken. "Here goes nothing," she said, exhaling loudly, and began pushing the keys, which lit up with reassuring familiarity, though in a peculiar shade of electric blue.

After the seventh chevron, all seven lit keys double-flashed green for a moment, and then held steady. Sam looked over at Colonel O'Neill and shrugged. Looking strained but optimistic, the Colonel clicked his radio. "SGC, this is Colonel O'Neill."

"This is Stargate Command," came the well-known voice of Tech Sergeant Harriman. Jonas could feel the air stir as Sam breathed in relief beside him. "What's your status, Colonel? I'm receiving no IDC."

"Ah, that's affirmative, SGC. We are _not_ at the Stargate. It's a long story." He looked over at Sam for a moment. "But it seems we have at least a little bit of time to tell it, provided we don't dawdle."

* * *

Hoping that the presence of the second DHD meant that this place was some sort of central control center, Sam had been doing her best to decipher the multitude of unfamiliar technology. Jonas did his best to help her, but the room was maddeningly lacking in information labels.

After explaining the situation to Stargate Command, Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c had gone to explore the nearby compound, hoping to find indication of a second entrance. General Hammond had promised to assemble a contingent of reinforcements in the hope of helping SG-1 get offworld at the appointed hour. In the meantime, they were in constant connection to Stargate Command, as they'd been holding the Stargate open for the last hour and a half already. To avoid possible Jaffa interference, however, they were maintaining radio silence unless necessary.

Not long after venturing forth, Teal'c and the Colonel returned. "This place is built like a rat race," the Colonel said, frustrated. "Not even that map we found is helping, and _that_ can't pack it up and take it with us." He looked over at Jonas. "We're gonna head out again in a minute. I want you to come along and bring your camera. It can help us remember where we've been."

While Jonas went to get his bag, Colonel O'Neill stepped up beside Sam, who was studying a large, table-like device with something resembling a giant touchpad in the center, surrounded by many small keys. A translucent display screen hung suspended above. Sam had recently managed to turn it on, but despite pushing every button she could find, had not had any further success.

"How's it going here?" Colonel O'Neill asked, stepping up beside her and leaning against the device. Jonas noted the tension in his hands and his shoulders.

"Not well," Sam replied, intent on her work. "Sir, if I can get any of this stuff to work, I may really need Jonas here."

"You can radio if you do," the Colonel replied. "Right now it's more important to have as many of us as possible looking for an escape route." He reached up with his right hand and rubbed his eyes in frustration. "What I'd really like to know is what the jaffa on the surface are doing."

As Colonel O'Neill finished speaking, the display above the console lit up with a vibrant blink. It took Jonas and the others half a moment to realize what they were looking at— a small contingent of jaffa, who were clustering and milling in a very familiar-looking area.

"What did you do?" Sam asked, alternating her amazed expression between the display and the console itself, examining those keys closest to Colonel O'Neill's fingers.

Colonel O'Neill held up his hands. "I didn't do anything," he said defensively.

Jonas stepped nearer to get a better view of the display. "This is at the obelisk," he observed.

"Thank you, Jonas, I think we all realize that," said Colonel O'Neill irritably.

Unfazed, Jonas turned back. "Ask to see the stargate," he said.

"What?"

"You put your hand on the console and wanted to see the surface. Ask to see the stargate."

The Colonel turned to give Sam a disbelieving expression. She shrugged. "He's right, sir. The timing seems a little too coincidental. Can't hurt."

Glancing around at the rest of his team as if they'd been demolecularized by a wormhole one _too_ many times, Colonel O'Neill placed three fingers tentatively on the top of the console. "Okay, then," he said, "Show me the stargate."

When display changed, Colonel O'Neill yanked his fingers away again as though he'd been burned. "Yikes!" he cried. The display now showed a pulsing, active stargate, perched atop the familiar hill. Jonas's theories as to the source of the image were crowded out by the more immediate problem of three times as many Jaffa watching the active stargate warily. It was clear they'd given up wondering if someone would come through, but did not trust it. Jonas wondered how long it would take them to realize the gate was being activated from this planet.

Frowning, Sam glanced between Colonel and console, her wonder beginning to yield to scientific method. Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, she put a gentle palm against the surface, near to where Colonel O'Neill had been touching. "Security," she said aloud with fledgling confidence. Nothing happened.

Sam looked at Colonel O'Neill. "You try."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, sir, I don't understand it either, but we don't have much time."

This time the display blossomed into not a live image, but a graphic. It was very much like the map they'd found earlier, except certain portions around the perimeter and within the complex highlighted in bright color. There was also, to Jonas's relief and satisfaction, accompanying text.

It took them a little while to get the hang of it, but Colonel O'Neill (and later, they discovered, Jonas) seemed to have an inexplicable ability to direct the systems of the Ancient console with nothing more than mental prompting. Through diligent trial and error, they learned several important pieces of information. 

* * *

"There are three access points to the complex," Sam explained to General Hammond some time later. "All three are accessed by rings, and all three are protected by the security that Jonas cracked with the musical device."

"The easternmost entrance won't do us any good," Jonas said, looking at a map as he spoke. "It's a too far from the stargate and comes out in a tight little valley right in the middle of these mountains. The southern entrance should be our best shot. It's farther from the stargate than the obelisk, but the trees should provide good cover if we need it."

"The plan's pretty basic, General," Colonel O'Neill spoke up. "We rig the mountain to blow on a timer, escape the complex through the southern entrance, and run like hell for the stargate."

"Sounds like a plan," the General agreed. "I'll be able to send reinforcements, of course, but when would be the best time? I'm assuming at some point you'll no longer be able to dial the stargate from within."

"No, sir," Sam confirmed. "And as to the reinforcements—" she glanced at Jonas and then Colonel O'Neill, who did not look pleased. "There's a slight wrinkle."

"What's that, Major?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Teal'c spoke up. "For purposes of security, the Ancients who built the complex designed three different keys for the three different entrances."

"That's why we found three," Jonas said. "We happened to use the one that unlocked our obelisk entrance by sheer coincidence."

"What are you saying, Jonas?"

"Sir, in order for the rings to activate and allow us to escape, they have to be unlocked using one of the other two keys. From the _outside_."

"And the only other person in the world who knows how to play that thing on short notice—" began Sam.

"—is Amelia," Jonas finished.

* * *

**A/N: **A friend and I have good-naturedly debated whether or not Jonas has the Ancient gene. I say yes because Jonas was originally being groomed for a place on Atlantis, and it's clear the writers were intending to go _somewhere_ with his unique physiology. She says no because she thinks it makes Jonas a little too Gary-Stu. Obviously, I held on to my beliefs for the purposes of this story. LOL

Theoretically, I'm going to finish posting this today… now that FF.N's decided to be cooperative again. :-P


	16. Base Eight Math

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN - **_Base-Eight Math

* * *

_

_So am I as the rich, whose blessed key,  
__Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,  
__The which he will not every hour survey,  
__For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.  
__Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,  
__Since, seldom coming in the long year set,  
__Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,  
__Or captain jewels in the carcanet.  
__So is the time that keeps you as my chest,  
__Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,  
__To make some special instant special-blest,  
__By new unfolding his imprison'd pride._

_Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,  
__Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope._

Sonnet 52 by William Shakespeare

* * *

It had been several hours after the foreboding stargate activation that Amelia had received a visit from General Hammond which went way beyond unexpected. His eyes and his posture communicated danger and reluctance long before he opened his mouth. He took a seat in one of her bedroom's chairs and in grave tones explained SG-1's situation.

"Miss Kinsey, I'm very loath to ask this of you, but—"

"I'll do it," she said. Even as she spoke, her stomach lurched nervously.

"You have to understand, you have no obligation to this program. I can't order you."

"I understand, General, but with all due respect I feel I _do_ have an obligation. Your program and the efforts of all your people saved my life. The least I can do—" she paused, swallowed, and gave a tight laugh. "I've got to tell you," she said, "I'm scared to death. But if something happened to— if they die when I could have helped them—"

"I know how you feel, Miss Kinsey. Now, if you'll accompany me to the briefing room, I'll introduce you to some folks who will do their best to keep you safe. We don't have much time."

Now she sat here, mulling over the briefing and her fears. Her right heel tapped the floor impatiently. The women's locker room at the SGC was a place Amelia had been quite certain she'd never see again, and certainly not like this. She'd put on all her bulky gear as instructed by Lieutenant Hailey, and was now sitting nervous and silent on the bench, waiting for the other woman to finish dressing. Beside her were the two extra musical keys, representing the twist of circumstance that had precluded her involvement in this mission.

She tried concentrating on said mission. In a little less than an hour they were scheduled to rendezvous with SG-1 at the newly discovered southern entrance to the Ancient mountain complex on PX3-651, and Amelia needed to use one of these two keys to get them out. Before that they had to get through a whole lot of jaffa footsoldiers, and probably several death gliders as well.

She was worried. Worried about Jonas, worried about dying, worried about failing… she couldn't help but think with regret that if she hadn't been helping where she had no right, Jonas would not have gotten this far in his research yet, and the Goa'uld would have invaded the planet without a hapless SG-1 at their mercy.

Hailey finished zipping her jacket and looked up. "Ready?" she asked.

"No."

"Yeah, I get that," the brusque lieutenant said. She headed for the door and Amelia trailed after her. "Just remember what General Hammond said. Listen to Colonel Dixon and do _anything_ he says without questioning. Stay behind the rest of SG-13. My team will be on your six."

"Stay in the circle, obey orders, and keep moving," Amelia repeated, giving a shaky exhale.

"I can't tell you if you'll keep your cool or not," Hailey said, glancing over. "You never know till you're there."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Amelia said wryly.

Their next stop was the armory, not far from the gateroom. The sight of all the weapons being loaded and passed around did very little to ease Amelia's fears. They did not give her a weapon. General Hammond explained that her lack of experience in both firearms and combat training would only make it ten times more dangerous for the people who _were _fighting, and she wholeheartedly agreed. Thinking back to her lack of skills with darts and archery back in her college days, she figured probably even more so than the General realized.

Colonel Dixon _had_ given her a crash course in how the P-90 worked, in case for some reason she needed to defend herself as a last resort, but Amelia was thinking that _not_ putting that scenario into her head might have been a more effective means of helping her keep her cool. Still, she felt a little bit naked without one of the black hulking menaces, but she was just going to have to be satisfied with her protective vest.

When they reached the door to the gate room, about twelve people altogether – Hailey was the only woman beside - Amelia, the door was shut tight. To Amelia's puzzlement, everybody stopped, and appeared to be waiting, checking over their gear one last time or staring in concentration, or speaking with their comrades in low voices. "Why are we stopping?" she leaned over to Hailey with a whisper.

The lieutenant did not whisper back, but said quietly, "They're deploying the missile strike first, to try and plow the road for us a little."

"Oh, right," Amelia said, nodding.

The sounds weren't exactly clear. Some came muffled through the thick steel door beside them. Others filtered down the corridor from the steps up to the control room. Amelia recognized the formal shouting of commands and also the distinct loud fizz that signaled a missile had been fired through the gate. When the ruckus moved on and the doors were opened, the acrid, tangy smell of the smoke the missile (or missiles, she wasn't quite sure) had left behind teased her nose.

General Hammond was already approaching from the opposite door to come and meet them. The three SG teams came to a formal halt in formation and saluted. Amelia stood awkwardly amidst them, clutching the bag where she'd stowed the keys.

"SG Teams Two, Seven, and Thirteen, Miss Kinsey" General Hammond began, returning the salute, "You have your orders." Amelia glanced sidelong at the pulsing surface of the wormhole and swallowed. General Hammond continued, "As soon as you step through the gate, you will have approximately forty minutes before the appointed time to rendezvous with SG-1 at the mountain complex's southern gateway. Your mission objective is the rescue of SG-1 only. Godspeed, people."

He caught Amelia's eye last and gave a curt nod, which she returned with a watery smile.

"Okay, people. Move out. Some time today," called Colonel Dixon. His posture was almost casual, but he was such a huge man Amelia figured he could get away with it in a time like this. Besides, there was a focused gleam in his eyes that was far more reassuring. Amelia shrugged her backpack on and joined the move forward.

Her heart was doing far more than merely pounding as her feet began progressing up the ramp. Muffled drums beating funeral marches to the grave, she kept thinking over and over. Ironic, considering the poem was about being heroic. Instinct made her want to stop and gather herself before heading through, but she decided at the last second that this situation would probably go easier if she treated it like jumping off the diving board instead of getting wet little by little.

With that bolstering analogy in mind, she squeezed her eyes shut and plunged into the wormhole, resisting the urge to hold her nose.

A few moments later, she emerged into the sights and sounds she'd feared most. Bright flashes, thundering sound to match, and more jaffa than she'd hoped to see.

"Kinsey!" Colonel Dixon shouted as soon as she'd come through. "Get down, stay down, and don't move till I say so!"

An airman she didn't know half-pulled her off the stone steps and into the shelter they provided to the left. He pushed her head down and began shooting, using the short staircase for cover.

Much sooner than Amelia had expecting, the firing stopped. "Good work," Dixon called. "Okay, everybody here?" After a mismatched chorus of replies, he added, "Good. Let's go; we've got a long jog. SG-13 is on point with me. SG-2, you're flanking Kinsey, SG-7 on our six. Keep your eyes open."

* * *

"Carter, this is O'Neill."

Jonas watched Sam pause in her work. "I read you, sir," she said. Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c were maintaining communication with Stargate Command back in the DHD room. Jonas and Sam had spent the last hour or so configuring the Ancient systems to overload. It hadn't been as difficult as Sam had feared to figure out. The Ancients themselves had provided a self-destruct system, but a diagnostic had revealed a power center a couple of miles from the control room that needed repairing. Sam stood beside the familiar panel of pull-out crystals, which were casting multi-colored shadows onto the walls of the corridors. When they'd arrived, half of the crystals had been darkened and inactive, but Sam had now managed to replace or cobble the panel into working order again.

Sam tossed the last irreparable black crystal aside as Colonel O'Neill said, "We just got word from Hammond. The strike force is through. We've got thirty-five minutes to reach them. Is our big boom ready?"

"That's a go, sir," Sam replied, shutting the panel closed with authority. She nodded at Jonas and together they put their packs back on and began the trek back the way they'd come. Sam cast a regretful eye back toward the unexplored part of the tunnel before turning forward again with determination.

"Okay. I've dialed the Stargate to hold it open another thirty-eight minutes," Colonel O'Neill said.

"Hopefully with the missile attack, the jaffa will be on their guard and worry more about the gate than our teams on the surface," Sam said.

"Which might make it trickier when we get back to the gate," Jonas muttered.

"One problem at a time, Jonas," Colonel O'Neill said. "What concerns me more is getting to the south entrance in time to meet the others. You two better high tail it back here, but I think we'll still end up being late."

"Actually, I've been working on that," Jonas said, now joining the conversation. "If we go back to the train terminal, I think we can get a ride to where we're going. I was looking through some logs on the systems when we you and Teal'c were exploring earlier. It looks like the rail system is functional, it was just powered down to conserve energy. We'll have to backtrack, but if we get it working we'll more than make up for the borrowed time."

"Are you sure you can get it working?"

"Sir, I think Jonas is right," Sam said. "There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it."

"All right. Teal'c and I are heading in that direction. We'll meet you there. O'Neill out."

Sam said little as they walked purposefully back toward the front of the complex, circumventing the control room in favor of a more direct route to the double doors by which they'd first entered the labyrinth of tunnels. She kept looking around with regretful eyes, and it wasn't hard for Jonas to share her feelings of loss.

"Don't worry, Sam," he said, trying to cheer her up. "I'm sure the Ancients must have built other places like this. We'll have another chance at it some day."

"Yeah," she said dispassionately. "I know."

"Meantime, let's focus on getting out of here alive so we can find them, eh?"

"Right." She sighed, then seemed to gather her focus again. "Right," she repeated more confidently.

When they reached their destination, they found Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c already waiting for them. "We were uncertain whether or not we were to proceed to the train itself," Teal'c informed them as they met in the middle of the terminal area.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Jonas said, already looking around for a console of some kind. "But if I'm wrong, it isn't actually that far—"

His words were cut off by an ominous trembling of the floor beneath their feet, followed a moment later by the muffled but unmistakable sound of an explosion coming from further down the tunnel.

"—away," Jonas finished reluctantly.

Colonel O'Neill was eyeing the passage. "Oh great," he muttered, and hoisted his weapon. "Looks like we're going to have company. Carter, Jonas," get to work. "Teal'c, come with me. We need to hold them off."

"You really think they could have blasted their way down here?" Jonas asked Sam.

"We thought _we_ could," she pointed out. He'd followed her to a promising-looking indentation in the wall, and already she was searching it with her fingers for clues to its purpose.

"Let me try," Jonas said. He reached out, touched the panel, and it instantly split horizontally across the middle. The two sides retracted up and down, revealing a diagnostic screen.

"Okay, that is really annoying," Sam said, stepping forward. "Must be some kind of physiological trigger, though why you and Colonel O'Neill should share it is beyond me."

"Sorry," Jonas said, though he knew how ridiculous it was to apologize.

"Just help me figure out what this says."

When Colonel O'Neill called again over the radio, they had made less-than-comforting progress. "Carter," he said, his voice subdued. "What can you tell me?"

"Not much, sir. What's your status?"

"Tromping boots are _tromping_ down the train track, Carter, and by the sounds of it, far more than one. I'd like to leave them in our wake if at all possible. So can we get this thing turned on and be whisked away yet or are we going to have to fight?"

"Well, that's the thing, sir." Sam looked at Jonas grimly. "There is no autopilot. You're actually going to have to drive that thing, but you can't even do that until we figure out how to get the doors open."

"I'm going to help them," said Jonas, adjusting his grip on his own P-90. "They may need another gun and if there's anything needs translating when we get on the train—"

"There's plenty that needs translating _here_," Sam pointed out. She sounded very much like she was trying not to snap.

Jonas sighed. "Should I stay or go, Major?" he asked.

She frowned, then shook her head. "Go. I'll quiz you over the radio." She clicked her radio. "Sir, standby. Jonas is coming to you."

The process of telegraphing the Ancient translations over the radio as Jonas hustled off in aid of his teammates was sloppy at best, but by the time he reached the train itself, they'd figured out what they thought was the command menu that would help them get the train's doors to open.

Jonas rounded the corner to see the beginning of the firefight between the Colonel, Teal'c, and the attacking jaffa. He ducked and hurried to the cover the others had taken, between the first and second cars of the train. Every now and again, they would pop out from the cover long enough to take a shot at the oncoming jaffa, but their opponents were quickly making progress along the length of the cars.

"Carter, now would be a good time!" Colonel O'Neill screamed into the radio after a staff weapon blast almost grazed his ear. A half a moment later, Jonas almost fell headlong into the forward most car as the door he'd been standing in front of opened with a soft but sudden _whoosh_. "That's more like it," the Colonel said, and he and Teal'c quickly followed Jonas, who was still rediscovering his feet.

"Quick, shut the door," the Colonel ordered. As Jonas turned follow the order, Colonel O'Neill turned to Teal'c. "Think you can drive this thing?" he asked.

"I will attempt to do so," Teal'c said.

"Uh, Jonas?' Sam called over the radio. Jonas had succeeded in shutting and— he was pretty sure— locking the door. He reached for his radio.

"Yeah, Sam, you did it. Go ahead."

"Great. Could you tell me if any of the other doors opened?"

"Huh?"

"I had no idea what part of the train you were using for cover. I think I opened all of them at once."

"Well, close them again," Colonel O'Neill called over.

"Done, sir. I'm just saying—"

"I get it, Carter."

"What's she saying?" Jonas asked, confused.

"We might have jaffa on board with us," the Colonel replied with a bit too much patience.

"O'Neill," called Teal'c.

Jonas and the Colonel stepped over to the front console where the former first prime was standing. There were four seats behind the front-sloping window, and a lot of buttons, but no matter how many Teal'c pushed, nothing happened.

"Oh, great," Colonel O'Neill said. "Let me guess. It only works if _I_ do it."

* * *

Amelia decided that ongoing gate travel would be something she would find most appealing if like on Enna she'd had time to stop and enjoy the scenery. The Stargate there had been at the edge of a thickly wooded forest. Here it was on top of a fairly high hill, and the view spread out before them was breathtaking.

Unfortunately, as soon as Colonel Dixon had rallied the rescue team, they'd taken off at once down the hill at a brisk jog. It was fortunate Amelia had taken all those brisk _walks_, or she would have had an impossible time keeping up. As it was, she was soon greatly winded, and knew with an unspoken realization that the others were being forced to match pace with her.

When they finally reached the cover of the trees— which felt like eons later— things got a little easier. The troops fanned out, darting from tree to tree with caution, but with far more focus on momentum than stealth. Still, without the nagging glare of the open air pounding around them, it was slightly easier to relax. And it looked as though misdirection was in their favor. The Goa'uld did not seem to have yet begun exploring in this direction.

Amelia began to put her belief in success.

* * *

"You know, I think this just might work," said Jonas.

Colonel O'Neill was staring intently through the forward window at the track racing before them as if uncertain he could trust it. He did not reply.

Sam swiveled in the co-pilot's seat. "Five more minutes, we should be there," she announced. She checked her watch. "And a little bit ahead of schedule," she added. She turned to the Colonel. "How about that?"

"Oh, just wait for it, Major," he muttered, still eyeing the view before him with suspicion. Jonas wasn't sure what was making the Colonel so edgy, but he'd long since learned not to dismiss the older man's instincts.

Yet it seemed this observation had done nothing to hone his reflexes. He was turning to ask Sam how long on the countdown for the mountain to blow when he was pummeled to the floor of the car by a massive blur that was Teal'c.

"O'Neill!" the jaffa cried simultaneously, and Jonas heard the unmistakable sound of a staff weapon being fired. He glanced up in time to see Teal'c already back on his feet taking the shot with the brunt of his arm. Jonas realized with lightning-quick horror that the shot uninterrupted would have hit either Colonel O'Neill or the glass on the other side of him, killing him almost instantly.

Teal'c grunted loudly as Jonas scrambled to his knees, already bringing up his gun to fire at the two enemy jaffa who were straddling the bridge between the lead car and the second.

"Jonas, get over here and drive this thing!" Colonel O'Neill shouted from behind.

"No time for that, sir," Sam called back. "Just keep us going; we're almost there! We'll handle this!"

She'd been taking careful shots at the jaffa as she spoke, but it was difficult. They had extremely good cover. Getting a shot through the narrow doorway at the correct angle was no easy feat. Jonas wasn't having much luck, either. Adding to the difficulty was the effect their own bullets would have in this tiny little car if they missed the doorway by too much.

"We must drive them back into the second car," called Teal'c.

"Or _off_," Sam added, coming up behind them. Jonas was still on one knee, trying to follow Sam's example of taking meticulous shots. Any time the jaffa so much as peeped around the edge of the doorway, Teal'c fired a precise shot through it with his own staff weapon, causing them to fall back. Jonas realized that with the loss of surprise, their enemy had also lost their greatest advantage. It wasn't very easy to maneuver a staff weapon in that narrow space, and they'd have to be much faster than was feasible to manage more than one shot with a zat, provided they even _had_ one. It was a perfect standoff.

"Jonas," Sam whispered. He glanced up and over his shoulder and she made a couple of familiar hand gestures. Jonas nodded.

He lowered himself to a crawling crouch began quickly but quietly edging forward along the edge where the floor and the wall of the cabin came together. Sam and Teal'c kept up the barrage behind him.

Luck was with him. The jaffa to the right of the doorway spied his progress a second too late. By that time Jonas had already pulled his own zat from his side and aimed squarely at the intruder. With a panicked cry, the disoriented jaffa fell tumbling from the train, and Jonas leapt to his feet.

Sam and Teal'c rushed forward, but Jonas reached the doorway first. Unfortunately, he wrongly anticipated how the final remaining jaffa would react, and was unprepared for the strong arm that darted around with perfect timing to seize him by the vest front and the heavy, armored leg that kicked his feet out from under him. He landed with a painful thud onto the floor, with his knees, shins, and feet dangling dangerously over the cable connection beneath them.

The next few moments were a bit hazy. Jonas lay stunned, all breath knocked from him, and was vaguely aware of Sam shouting his name, Teal'c engaging their assailant, and himself being dragged back into the safety of the car. When Sam had helped him achieve an upright position, Teal'c was staring coolly at the rushing ground outside the doorway, and the second jaffa was no where to be seen.

"Uncouple it!" called Colonel O'Neill from the forward half of the car. "There maybe more of them further down."

"Yes, sir."

Sam got up to obey the order, and Teal'c turned to address Jonas. "Are you injured, Jonas Quinn?"

"I'll live," Jonas said tightly with a wince.

"Hey, I think it's almost our stop," the Colonel called again. "Somebody want to come help me out?"

"Sure," Jonas managed. Sam had finished decoupling the cars and he barely caught a glimpse of the rest of the train whisking out of sight behind her back as she shut the rear door once more. "Help me up, Teal'c."

Sam looked at her watch. "Three minutes till the rendezvous," she said.

* * *

It was a little bit tricky finding the back door entry to the mountain complex. No convenient obelisk marked the site, and Colonel Dixon was forced to further disperse his team to look for it. Still, everyone's spirits were considerably relieved when they reached SG-1 over the radio on the very first try.

"Jack, I hope your team's rested and ready to run, because once we get you out of there, it ain't gonna be a walk in the park." Colonel Dixon looked around at the forest trees ironically.

"Why thank you, Dave." Colonel O'Neill paused. "Any luck with that ring platform? We're already at our end. Jonas has got it turned on, but of course his toy isn't working."

"That's a negative. Any chance we can use the radio signals to track our way to you?"

Amelia wanted very much to talk to Jonas, but it wasn't like there was any sort of conversation that could be considered appropriate just now. She was shadowing Colonel Dixon, doing her best to help in the search. She could've searched on her own, but she was still undefended, and the Goa'uld were still wandering around who knew where.

There was another pause and Colonel O'Neill spoke again. "Carter says maybe, but Jonas suggests that Amelia try the keys first. If it works the same as the obelisk entry they'll turn on the console and save us the trouble of triangulation."

"Good thinking. You know how I hate triangulation," Dixon replied, and nodded to Amelia out of the corner of his eye. She nodded back, and scrambled to retrieve the keys from her bag.

"And just so there's no added pressure, we've already got jaffa in the base," Colonel O'Neill went on as Amelia fitted the first of the keys to her hand. "Don't know how long it's going to take them to catch up to us."

"Sure, no pressure at all," Amelia muttered.

The first key produced no result. She felt a little silly, pressing the buttons and looking around in vain. Not wanting to waste much time, she abandoned it in favor of the second after a few uneventful moments. This time, the outcome was much more satisfactory.

"Colonel," came the voice of one of Dixon's team over the radio a few seconds after she'd activated the key. "We found it. It just turned on by itself."

"Guess this is the key we want," Amelia observed. She put the first back in her bag to get it out of her way.

"Good work, Wells. We'll be right there. All teams, fall in. Form a perimeter."

They joined Sergeant Wells a few moments later, who'd been about three hundred feet away, deeper into the forest. "I'm not sure we could have found it quickly, Colonel," he said as they approached. "It was pretty overgrown."

He was right. As opposed to the way Jonas and Major Carter had described the obelisk, the smaller, less obtrusive console they found now was heavily overgrown, and also half-sheltered in a small, rocky overhang. It was similar in size and proportion to a DHD, and the text was similar to pictures Amelia had long-studied of the obelisk.

Colonel Dixon ordered Wells to join the perimeter and took over clearing off the foliage from the surface of the console. "Balinsky, Hailey," he ordered. "Get over here and help Kinsey."

At first everything seemed pretty straightforward. The holographic menus were identical to the first ones, and Jonas and Major Carter talked Hailey and Balinsky through them. They found the code stream quickly enough. It was when Amelia began playing along with her key that they encountered a snag. Though the console began playing its own music in response to Amelia's, nothing else happened.

"This has to be the right key, Jonas," she said with frustration. "The console didn't respond to the first one."

"This doorway system was designed as a security measure," Sam observed. "It makes sense that there would be some kind of variation from door to door."

"Each entrance had a number associated with it," Jonas said. Amelia recognized the note of excitement and stimulation in his voice and knew he had an expression on his face to match. For the first time since she stepped through the stargate, she gave an unimpeded smile. "I didn't think much of it till now, but that could have something to do with it."

"What were the numbers?" asked Hailey. Her expression was intent as well, though she was frowning.

"The obelisk was a four," said Jonas with confidence. "The mountain entrance was seven. This entrance is—" he paused.

"Fourteen," Major Carter finished knowingly.

"Right."

Hailey shook her head and sighed. "There's an interesting and nonsensical combination," she said with frustration. "So— work the problem: We know that the answer probably has something to do with numbers _and_ music."

"It's the interval."

There was a pause of half-disbelieving silence. Finally, Sam asked, "What makes you say that, sir?"

Colonel O'Neill spoke up again. "I just now thought of it. When Jonas played his key against the obelisk, the music was pretty. When Amelia played, it wasn't."

"Oh my gosh, I think he's right," Amelia murmured. She looked up at Colonel Dixon excitedly. "The way Jonas and I learned it, you have to play the harmony in thirds against the music you're reading. _Always_ in thirds."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Well, that's definitely a basis for a pattern," Major Carter observed.

"So the number four is equivalent to a third?" Jonas offered.

"Yeah, that makes all kinds of sense." Colonel Dixon shifted his hold on his P-90 and tried to look patient.

"Actually, it does," Amelia said. "Jonas and I have studied this stuff a _really_ long time. The Ancients numbered their scales chromatically."

"On Earth, a third numbered chromatically would be a fifth," Jonas said. "But if you don't count the first note—"

"Then it's four half steps away," Amelia concluded. She grinned with excitement and looked around.

Hailey had her head cocked and slowly nodded. Dixon seemed amused. "The sad thing is, my eight-year-old might actually understand what you're talking about," he said.

"That would make the Ancients' seven an Earth fifth—" Jonas began, then paused. Amelia could practically hear him frowning.

"And fourteen?" Hailey asked.

"Is kind of puzzling," Amelia admitted with a frustrated frown. "Assuming our guesses are right, that'd put it at an octave and a whole note away from note one."

"That doesn't work?"

"I wouldn't have thought with this interval idea they'd deliberately skip a whole octave, but I guess it's possible. Even so, it wouldn't sound pretty."

"We should try it anyway," Sam agreed.

They tried. The situation did not improve.

"You're right. That didn't sound pretty," Dixon said.

"Uh-oh—" said Hailey.

Amelia too had noticed. The screen was doing something different now. Another submenu had popped up beside the code stream. There was an unmistakable familiarity with the flashing symbols it was projecting.

"Fantastic," Dixon muttered.

"What's going on?" asked Colonel O'Neill.

"A countdown just popped up," said Hailey.

"I _hate_ countdowns."

"You said it, sir," Hailey agreed with a sigh.

"I don't understand," said Balinsky, looking nervous. "Is it going to explode?"

"Yeah, we don't want to explode," Colonel Dixon added.

"I think that's unlikely, sir," said Hailey. "Major Carter already found a self-destruct routine for the complex. My guess is that after the countdown we'll be locked out of this access screen."

"I agree," said Sam over the radio.

"So how much time do we have?"

Hailey had been staring intently at the countdown since it had begun. "I have no idea," she concluded succinctly.

"I guess this rules out systematically trying all the intervals," said Colonel O'Neill.

"Glad I wasn't the only one with that idea," Dixon muttered.

"No sir, and who's to say another wrong guess wouldn't accelerate the countdown?" Sam pointed out. Then she said, "Hang on—"

"What?" prodded the Colonel after Sam was quiet for minute.

"Amelia, what would the interval be if the third number was twelve, not fourteen?"

"A perfect octave," Amelia said without hesitation.

"That has to be it," Sam muttered. "Sir, when you had the library of Ancient knowledge downloaded into your brain, do you remember the equations you provided on the blackboard? The ones I couldn't figure out?"

"Oh…vaguely."

"It was base-eight math. Since then we haven't encountered very much evidence that the Ancients ever used it consistently, but—"

"Try it," Colonel O'Neill ordered hastily.

"I don't get it," Balinsky said as he began pulling up the code stream again. "If the math is funky for this entry, how come it wasn't for the other two?"

"Because between base-eight and base-ten maths the numbers one through seven would be the same," Hailey said simply.

"Weird."

Perhaps it was because they'd all gotten used to their attempts failing, but this time when they all heard the sounds of the rings activating, everyone's surprise was plain. Then there was a mad, panicking scramble as everyone realized at once that they weren't exactly sure where the rings _were_.

It was Amelia who'd been standing in the right place. She barely had time to register relief that she hadn't been cut into by the device before it was whipping her below the ground and out of sight.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the tunnel below, but she forgot all about it as soon as she saw the bedraggled SG-1 standing there. "Thank God," she said with relief, and took two hasty steps forward to hug Jonas tightly.

He returned the embrace but pulled her away quickly. "And thank _you_," he added with a smile.

"Good job, kid," Colonel O'Neill said with a smile. "Ready to do it again?"

Amelia nodded. "Yes, sir. Now the worst is over, at least for my—"

"Sir!" Major Carter shouted, and raised her weapon with wide eyes.

Amelia turned around to see what she was looking at, and screamed as a staff blast hit the wall somewhere to the left of and above their heads.

"Amelia, get down!" Jonas cried. He seized her by the shoulders and knocked her to the ground, just as another staff blast nearly took their heads off. They landed with a painful thud on the floor.

The next few hellish minutes were a blur. All Amelia remembered later was that Jonas kept her safe the entire time, pulling her dazed person into a sheltered alcove, then keeping his body between her and the jaffa as he helped his teammates in their retaliation.

The barrage of fire finally ceased when Colonel O'Neill managed to get a grenade pulled and tossed it amidst the enemy forces while Teal'c, Major Carter, and Jonas provided cover fire. Amelia couldn't have said how long the firefight had lasted. Jonas shielded her again as the grenade went off, leaving her ears ringing.

There was a general round of coughing and recovering as the echoes of the blast died down, and the attack seemed to have been halted. Jonas pulled a trembling Amelia to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked with concern.

She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said, "Sure. But I think I might change my mind when we get home."

"Then let's get there," Colonel O'Neill said.

"Yes, and we'd better hurry. Who knows how that blast affected the tunnel structure," Sam pointed out.

Fortunately, they reached the surface again without further incident. There was a few moments' worth of greeting between the rescue team and their charges before Colonel Dixon began barking orders, preparing his men for the dangerous march back to the gate.

"Carter," said Colonel O'Neill. "Light up the mountain. Let's go home."

* * *

**A/N: **One of my very favorite geeky moments of Stargate was Sam's revelation about base-eight math in _The Fifth Race_. The concept that alien cultures would probably approach even scientific things with a different paradigm was one that I found very cool, and was partially responsible for my ideas about how alien cultures might approach music. I always wished the show's writers would have revisited the math thing, but it seems that since then it was a one-time card.

Oh, and in case anybody wants to know what the 'train' looks like— think a row of puddle jumpers on a track. ;-)

Colonel Dixon and SG-13 appear courtesy of **Domi Lys**who specifically requested them. As for me, I have no objections whatsoever to using canon characters, and Dixon turned out to be tons of fun to write. Free gold star for anyone who finds the _Firefly/Serenity _nod. ;-)

Onward and upward!

Saché


	17. Dangers Exchanged

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN **– _Dangers Exchanged

* * *

_

_What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,  
__Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,  
__Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,  
__Still losing when I saw myself to win!  
__What wretched errors hath my heart committed,  
__Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!  
__How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,  
__In the distraction of this madding fever!  
__O benefit of ill! now I find true  
__That better is by evil still made better;  
__And ruined love, when it is built anew,  
__Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater._

_So I return rebuked to my content,  
__And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent._

Sonnet 119 by William Shakespeare

* * *

All during the debriefing, Sam watched Amelia carefully out of the corner of her eye. Since returning from P3X-651, the girl had been unusually subdued, though her sobriety seemed more reflective than depressed, which Sam found relieving. Naturally, Amelia had spent a good deal of time talking with Jonas, but in all other company, such as the debriefing, she spoke minimally and mostly listened.

The fight and flight to get back to the gate hadn't been easy. They'd lost two men from SG-7, and SG-13's Balinsky had suffered a severe sprain in his left leg that would leave him out of action for several weeks. Sam herself was presently enduring an incessant throbbing in her right elbow— she'd landed hard on that side in the midst of providing cover fire once they'd reached the gate.

Now she sat next to Colonel O'Neill at the briefing table, listening as he and Colonel Dixon concluded their description of the mission to General Hammond.

"And we're certain the facilities inside the mountain were completely destroyed?" General Hammond finally asked.

"We felt the impact not long before we got back to the gate," Sam said. "I guess we'll have to put our faith in the Ancients' self-destruct, but I think I can reasonably affirm that, sir. Fortunately, the self-destruct seemed designed as an implosion rather than the other way around."

"Otherwise we might have had more to deal with than an earthquake," Colonel O'Neill pointed out.

"We can send a MALP in a few weeks, see if we can confirm anything else," Colonel Dixon concluded.

"I'll consider it," General Hammond said. "In the meantime," he sighed and looked around the table, "good job, everyone. It was a difficult rescue mission, and you all did yourselves credit."

"Thank you, sir," said Jack. Sam glanced over at Hailey, who was looking more than a little forlorn. Sam tried to imagine what it was like two lose two team-mates in one blow. Losing Daniel had been hard enough.

"Dismissed," said General Hammond. "Get some rest, people."

All in all, it was not a very cheery day. Sam worked alone in her lab, pondering all their losses, feeling quite reflective herself. She mostly worked on typing up her thoughts on the Ancient facility while the memories were still fresh in her mind, using all the pictures from Jonas's camera to help. Though she by no means second-guessed her advice to destroy the mountain, the loss of all that potential technology gave her a sickening feeling of regret that only time was going to ease. She was dying to know what sort of programming enabled those consoles to respond to mental commands, and why only Colonel O'Neill and Jonas could make it do so. She hadn't even gotten a _chance_ at the crystal technology she'd so desperately wanted to get her hands on. If only they'd come away with something – _anything –_ that would have made the deaths of two good men feel so utterly futile.

Late that afternoon, her phone rang, almost surprising her out of her reverie. Standing up, she stretched her neck slightly, easing the strain, and went to answer it.

"This is Carter."

"Major Carter? This is Sergeant Simmons. There's a Malcom Barrett here from the NID. He says he wants to speak with you and Colonel O'Neill."

* * *

Barrett had never actually been to the SGC before. It felt a little bit like stepping foot in a foreign country, especially since everyone who'd heard 'NID' after his name kept giving him sidelong glances of suspicion as he was escorted down two elevators to the lower levels. He supposed they couldn't really be blamed. His organization hadn't exactly built up a lot of good will in its history with the SGC. It was something he hoped he could change, and that his mission here today would help towards that end.

He was taken to a bland grey room and left to cool his heels. About five minutes later, he was joined by Major Carter, Colonel O'Neill, and to his surprise, General Hammond.

"Barrett," Colonel O'Neill greeted pulling back a chair to sit across from him at the table. "You want to tell us what's going on?"

"Oh, the usual," Barrett replied with a small smirk, watching Major Carter follow suit out of the corner of his eye. "Intrigues, subplots… general sneakiness."

"All in a day's work?"

"Pretty much."

"Are we finished?" General Hammond chided.

Barrett was amused at the slightly chagrined expression that passed over Colonel O'Neill's face. "Sir," he ceded.

Hammond turned to Barrett. "Agent Barrett," he said, "what's this all about?"

Barrett paused half a moment, looking between the three, and then said, "Is Senator Kinsey's daughter still at the SGC?"

The evident surprise on Carter's face was satisfactory. "Yes," she blurted. "Why?"

"And how did you know that?" Colonel O'Neill added with a mild scowl. Barrett only raised his eyebrows, and the Colonel rolled his.

"I've had a wiretap on the Senator's office phone for the past seven months," Barrett said, folding his arms. "It probably wouldn't surprise you to know that Kinsey's contributions to the SGC to grease permission for his daughter's treatment were subsidized by many of the rogue NID elements we've apprehended in the past few weeks."

Colonel O'Neill snorted. "I knew it seemed out of character," he said.

Carter was still trying to digest the information. "No offense, but…what would the NID care about Amelia's illness?"

"Rogue NID," Barrett corrected her. "And the answer you're looking for is Tretonin."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Of course," she said.

"Unfortunately, though we managed to cut off some of the heads of the hydra, I wouldn't bet my best Armani that we got them all."

"How long have you known this?"

"About the tretonin thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Since before Miss Kinsey came here."

"And you're just now _telling_ us?" Colonel O'Neill said, incredulously.

"Yes."

"Why?" asked General Hammond. His stiff posture told Barrett that he was easily as displeased as Colonel O'Neill.

"At the time, I decided to hold out and see if I could learn more. And it's a good thing too, because raising a ruckus back then might have jeopardized all the progress I'd made in learning the identity of these people."

"You just said you didn't think you'd gotten them all."

"I still don't, but I take what victories I can, and we _did_ come away with a win in the duplicator business."

"Does Amelia know about this?" Major Carter asked softly, staring at the table.

Curious at her tone, Barrett cocked his head and studied her face carefully as he replied. "No, she doesn't."

He was rewarded with unmistakable relief in her eyes. She took a deep breath. "So, now we're back to the original question. Why are you here?"

"After the assassination attempt, I managed to get a wiretap on the phone in Kinsey's study too. I'd dared to hope that whatever faction it was that specifically wanted the tretonin was one of the ones we'd quelled, but there are others."

"It's not the sort of thing that would turn only one head," Colonel O'Neill observed.

"Too true, Colonel. They're pressuring Kinsey to deliver, and they seem more desperate than before. Unfortunately, they're still being careful enough that I can't yet track them down… in the meantime I think precautions should be made to protect both Miss Kinsey and the security of the tretonin project."

"What do you propose?"

"There's a doctor in the Washington area. He keeps a small, private practice. He's one of my people, actually— ex-military, mostly retired from this life of stealth, but he's helped me out once or twice. If we could give him security clearance, I'd be willing to trust him with the safekeeping of the tretonin. And Miss Kinsey would have to be told all of this. Doctor Jansky could meet whatever regimen she needs to maintain her health, and we could orchestrate it in such a way that anybody monitoring her movements wouldn't catch on. In the meantime, we tell Kinsey that she's _not_ taking any tretonin off the base— that her treatment is mostly over, and that if she needs any more she needs to return to the SGC.

"My only question," he said, leaning forward slightly, "is about Miss Kinsey herself. Do you think she could be trusted?"

The three officers shared very long, knowing expressions. It was Colonel O'Neill who replied. "She just saved our lives, in circumstances that dear old dad certainly never would have bothered. She's got my vote."

"Mine too," said Carter, and General Hammond nodded.

"But you can't really expect that to be the end of it," Colonel O'Neill went on. "If these people can't get their hands on tretonin, they might want to get their hands on _Amelia_."

Barrett nodded.

"And?"

"I've got a couple of ideas about that too."

* * *

Two days after the rescue mission, General Hammond departed for Washington on business on behalf of the Air Force. As Colonel O'Neill was second in command, this meant that SG-1 was not being deployed on missions. Though Jonas and Major Carter worked hard doing research during the day, Jonas's evenings were free, and he spent nearly every minute with Amelia.

They'd talked often about what had transpired in their offworld adventure. For Amelia it was an experience she'd not soon forget. It had been hard to sleep the first few nights— memories of the running, the shouting, and the fighting filled her senses, and she found herself a thousand times more frightened in the aftermath than she had been in the midst of it. Jonas's comforting presence was a soothing balm to her shaken spirits. With his help, it wasn't even too long before she was able to smile again. Of course, the admiration extended to her by everyone at the SGC didn't hurt either.

Almost a week after General Hammond's departure, Amelia and Jonas sat side by side on the small sofa in the rec room, sharing a bowl of peanut M&Ms and plenty of enthusiastic conversation. "So what kind of candy do they have on Kelowna?" Amelia asked. She pushed two brown M&Ms together until their shells cracked, then began picking off the chocolate in tiny bits and eating them one by one as Jonas replied.

"Unfortunately, no chocolate."

"I'm so sorry," she said with exaggerated sympathy. Then she nudged him playfully with an elbow. "But that doesn't answer my question."

He sighed. "Um…okay, candy. Well, we have a process of infusing dried fruit with sugar. It's called a sweetfreeze. Those are pretty good. I've always wanted to see what it would taste like to try it with some Earth fruits. Especially plums," he added thoughtfully.

"Mmmm. Sounds good. What else?"

"Candy sticks that you dip into sweet dips and sauces. Making a good sticky sauce is a culinary art form." He grinned. "The thicker the better."

She grinned back, licking the last bit of M&M off the back of her thumb. "You should make some."

"Ah…no. I like to eat food, but nobody likes to eat mine," he said with a laugh.

Amelia gave a mock gasp of shock. "You mean mister quick study can't _cook_?" she asked, then burst into a peal of giggles.

"Yeah," he said, rolling his eyes. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" When she'd finished laughing, Amelia only stared back at him, eyes sparkling with unmistakable mischief. "What?" he asked innocently

"You have chocolate on your face," she said, raising her eyebrows and leaning her face close to his.

He frowned. "I do? Where?"

"Right here," she said, and reached up with her fingertips to the corner of his mouth. Then she caught his eyes in hers, her expression playful and full of meaning.

"Yeah?" he said slowly back. "I might need a little help with that," he said knowingly.

"I thought that's what you'd say," Amelia replied with delight. She leaned forward and placed a very soft kiss upon the offending spot, lingering there for a moment until Jonas reached up and put a hand behind her head, drawing her into a full and proper kiss, which wasn't long in coming.

One of Amelia's hands was already on Jonas's face, but the other was quick to join it, tracing up both sides of his jawbone lightly with her thumbs. Then her hands proceeded down his neck to his shoulders, and then she slid them forward until her arms were completely draped around him. Wordlessly, Jonas accommodated her shifting body, drawing her into his lap, his hands coming to rest on the small of her back.

With a contended sigh, Amelia broke off and rested her head on his shoulder. She looked up at his face and smiled. "Yup," she said serenely. "All gone."

"Well, that's a relief," he said. She laughed and closed her eyes, snuggling her head more comfortably into his chest, appreciating how very warm and solid it was.

"Amelia?"

"Hmmn?"

"What will happen when you go home?"

Amelia opened her eyes again and stared, wordlessly, at a bare corner of the room behind the door. "I don't know," she finally said. "I've thought about it and thought about it, and I just don't know," she added mournfully, her voice muffled.

He traced his fingers slowly up and down her arm. "We could talk to General Hammond," he said. "I'm sure there's some way I'd be allowed to send you letters."

She turned her face back out again. "You wouldn't be able to say much," she said softly.

"I know. But it'd be something, right?"

"It would be something," she agreed.

"They can't keep me on this base forever," Jonas said resolutely, to no one in particular. Amelia did not reply. She would have liked to share his optimism, but she was more familiar with such things than even the average person in her country, let alone Jonas. She knew it might be a very, very long time before he would be allowed to leave.

Unwillingly, Amelia's thoughts drifted to next week, when she was projected to depart. Malek had come the day before, with a generous supply of Tretonin, and had given her a thorough examination. He declared she was ready for a much lower dosage.

This morning she'd had a more interesting meeting— this time with Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter, who'd introduced her to a fair-haired, kind-looking man named Malcom Barrett. She'd reluctantly agreed not to divulge to Jonas the content of their discussion. It hadn't exactly been a comfortable conversation. Agent Barrett had told her many disturbing things about her father and his connections— things that frightened her. Among other things, they'd explained their plans to keep the samples of tretonin safe from her father's cohorts, and how they planned to keep Amelia herself safe.

Amelia had never in her wildest dreams imagined she would have any reluctance in reclaiming the life she'd had before she was sick. She missed the orchestra very much. She missed spending the off-seasons with Lydia and her niece and nephews, watching them get bigger. On top of all that, now she had Mission Impossible-esque cloak and dagger type dangers to worry her, but by far her greatest reluctance had to do with the man who now held her so warmly. In Jonas she had found the most wonderful and unexpected treasure. How could she possibly just leave him behind?

Slowly, Amelia sat up to gaze at Jonas fully in the face. He stared back, his eyes roaming her features as if trying to memorize them. Those eyes – so warm and piercing, always watchful and seemingly innocent. She lifted a hand to his face and ran her fingers lovingly over its clean-cut angles, tracing his hairline. "Letters," she agreed softly, before their mouths came together again.

This time it was not flirty or playful, but desperate and heartfelt, burgeoning with something more intense than either of them had felt before. It wasn't long before Jonas tipped her back slowly onto the sofa behind her, all the while never relinquishing her mouth, and she found herself grateful they were technically still in a public place, so that propriety would keep her from crossing any lines that her willpower might not be able to manage just now. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other was at her waist. Amelia's hands were full of fistfuls of his t-shirt.

A moment later he stopped and pulled away, breathing heavily for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes roving her face.

"For what?" she asked in confusion.

"We should probably stop," he said reluctantly.

Amelia sighed and gave him a knowing smile. "Yeah," she agreed quietly. "I know."

He brought his other hand to her face and kissed her one last time. This one was softer, closed, and tender. It had a sense of finality.

It was nevertheless too late.

"_What _is going on here?"

The voice was harsh, demanding, and as unyielding as tempered steel. A chill of panic washed over Amelia at the sound of it, and she broke away from Jonas with a gasp, her eyes darting disbelievingly to the door. For a full horrifying seconds, she wasn't capable of uttering a single word.

"Dad?" she finally managed, weakly.

Robert Kinsey's tall form filled the doorway, and the look he was giving them could have withered a grizzly bear in its tracks.

* * *

One more chapter!

Hope you guys are enjoying the fast-track ending. LOL

Saché


	18. Sweet Sorrow

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN** – _Sweet Sorrow

* * *

_

_Let me confess that we two must be twain,  
__Although our undivided loves are one:  
__So shall those blots that do with me remain,  
__Without thy help, by me be borne alone.  
__In our two loves there is but one respect,  
__Though in our lives a separable spite,  
__Which though it alter not love's sole effect,  
__Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.  
__I may not evermore acknowledge thee,  
__Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,  
__Nor thou with public kindness honour me,  
__Unless thou take that honour from thy name:_

_But do not so, I love thee in such sort,  
__As thou being mine, mine is thy good report_.

Sonnet 36 by William Shakespeare

* * *

Amelia sat, arms crossed, jaw set stubbornly, in a cold, hard chair in a cold, hard room. She couldn't help wondering if her father had chosen it based on its resemblance to an interrogation chamber. It was bare, devoid of any form of decoration. There was nothing within but a table, two plastic chairs, and a cart in the corner that boasted an overhead projector.

"Amelia, what in God's name were you thinking?" her father snarled in a voice he hadn't used on her since she was nine.

She made no effort to hide the rolling of her eyes. Instinctively knowing he would tirade for another couple of minutes at _least _before actually expecting a reply, she bit her tongue and stared at a corner of the table. To say the moments after the livid Senator had so unfortunately discovered her and Jonas together were awkward was the understatement of the decade. Amelia had been so shocked she'd choked on everything she'd tried to say, and her vain attempts to recover were probably the only reason her father had been able to shuffle her off for this little lecture.

_Big lecture_, she amended internally.

"Do you have any idea what sort of strings I had to pull to get you in here? And this is how you repay me? Taking up with one of Jack O'Neill's people? An alien, no less!"

Amelia turned her head to look at her father incredulously. "No offence, dad, but the way I understood it when we started this was that you didn't really give me much of a choice, remember? So how exactly is it I owe you anything?"

_Especially now that I know the whole truth, you hypocritical—_

He gave a derisive laugh. "Don't give me that crap, Amelia. We both know you would have made the choice on your own. Without my influence, you would be _dead _now. You don't think I get at least a little credit for that?"

"Fine. For the record, thank you. I have my life back. May I emphasize the point that it is _my _life?"

"You have no idea what you're messing with here. _Who _you're messing with."

"You don't know Jonas," she countered. "Anyway, for all intents and purposes, he's human."

Another scoffing laugh. "Oh no. I have no idea what he _is_, but he's definitely not human."

Amelia frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked coldly.

"He's a freak of nature, is what he is." At this description, Amelia winced, wishing she hadn't used it once herself, albeit jokingly. "An alien with physiology so far beyond ours we have no idea what he's capable of. I've been pressing the government to keep him confined for study, one of the highest security risks we've ever dealt with, including that Jaffa, but as usual, no one listens to what I have to say. Instead, we let him in on the most sensitive details of our planet, fraternize with our highest ranking people, and learn secrets that even good, God-fearing people of our country don't get to know. An alien! Who knows what true his agenda is!"

"He's a good man," she said levelly.

"He's a traitor! A turn-coat!"

"How can you say that?" Amelia snapped back, angrier than she'd ever been in her life. "Jonas made a _huge _sacrifice coming here. From what I understand, his contributions have already been very beneficial to Earth, and you want to lock him up in a little room and study him like…like a lab rat!"

Her father rolled his eyes and gave a snort. "We might have benefited once or twice, yes," he said, "but that doesn't change the fact that the man turned once, he's liable to turn again. You take advantage of defectors when it benefits you, Amelia, but you never really trust them."

Amelia had no idea what to say. The man standing across from her was far greater stranger than she'd ever suspected. Someone she'd had no idea even existed. How could he be so cold-hearted? Unbidden, a single tear spilled from her right eye. It surprised her, for she hadn't felt like she was about to cry. Anger was the only thing she was aware of.

Apparently, her father interpreted the teardrop as a sign of early acceptance. "Well, at least I seem to be getting through," he said in a satisfactory sort of tone. "Now, I think it's high time we went home, and—"

"No," Amelia cut him off bitingly.

Her father's mouth hung open halfway between words, and he closed it with a grim expression, glaring at her darkly. "What, you think you're just going to stay here forever?" he asked appraisingly.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she replied. She met his eyes, "I meant _no_, you're not 'getting through' to me. The fact remains that, alien or no alien, traitor, turncoat, guinea pig, or whatever _you _want to call him, how I feel about Jonas is really none of your business. I'm twenty-four years old, dad! You think I don't have a mind?"

The silence that followed was colder and harder than Amelia's chair. She and her father stared at each other, and she understood instinctively that a battle line had just been drawn. No longer would she perceive him with detached neutrality. Somehow, he had become an enemy. For some reason she would probably never understand, it made her sad. "You can't stop me from associating with him," she finally said, very calmly and firmly.

"Oh, I most certainly can," her father retorted. With the air of one who'd just scored some kind of victorious point, he set his briefcase down hard on the table and snapped it open. "What you don't realize, Amelia, is that I was aware of your little affair before I even arrived at the SGC. In fact, it's the whole reason I'm here."

Caught off guard, Amelia blurted out a puzzled, "How?" before she could stop herself.

He pulled a manila folder out of the briefcase and tossed it roughly at Amelia. "I have my own friends with connections in the Stargate program," he said. With no small amount of trepidation, Amelia opened the folder. "Yesterday, these photographs came to my attention," he continued.

Amelia's blood had run cold. Each and every photograph was of her and Jonas together on a sunny Wednesday afternoon over five weeks ago. In the pictures, the two of them were usually chatting and holding hands – sometimes outside the movie theatre, sometimes eating ice cream, sometimes laughing while recovering from a particularly undignified bicycle crash. With each progressive picture, the frigid knot of fear in Amelia's stomach became larger and tighter. "You were spying on me?" she finally asked in a weak voice.

"We were _monitoring _the alien," her father corrected. "I don't know what the General was thinking, allowing him out unsupervised for so long, but now I realize you must have had something to do with it."

"And who are your…sources?" Amelia asked slowly. She was still staring at the photographs, transfixed.

He smirked satisfactorily. "No one you know. No one you'll ever know. There are some of us who do what we can to compensate for the lack of competent leadership at the SGC. Keeping tabs on aliens' whereabouts and activities at all times falls under that category. I've been heavily preoccupied in preparing for the conference that General Hammond and myself participated in this past week in Washington, otherwise, I assure you, I would have known about this sooner and done something about it. As I'm going to do now."

Amelia paused in her perusal of the pictures. "Do what, exactly?" she finally managed to ask.

Across from her, her father placed both hands on the tabletop and leaned down to stare at her with authority. "You're coming home with me," he said. "I already know there's no need for you to remain any longer. You will break all ties with Jonas Quinn, or I swear to you, Amelia, I have the power to make sure you regret it."

Amelia couldn't believe she was hearing this. "You wouldn't do anything to me," she said, though only half- assured of this conviction.

His only reply was a snort. "No, I wouldn't," he agreed. He straightened triumphantly. "It wasn't you I was talking about."

The coldness in Amelia's veins froze completely. She swallowed, eyes wide and stared back at her father, for the first time genuine fear. "What has he ever done to you?" she asked in a small voice full of pain. Another tear escaped onto her cheek.

It doesn't matter what he's done, it matters what he _is_," was her father's unfeeling reply. "And who he associates with," he added, almost to himself.

Amelia closed her eyes, willing herself to stop crying. Her father's dark demand had cut her into shreds like a hacksaw. She could not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "I will come with you," she agreed, deadpan. Each word was like the stab of a knife.

"I'm glad to see you've come to your senses. Let's go get your things."

* * *

Jonas paced furiously about the space before the elevator, nervous, uncertain, uneasy, and above all, mortified. What had he gotten Amelia into? Where had her father taken her? Why was he even here? Should Jonas have said something – _done _something? But nothing had seemed fitting. He'd been so shocked that he could hardly think straight, let alone take any action. In a strange way, it almost reminded him of that fateful moment on Kelowna when Doctor Jackson had so unthinkingly put his life in the line and Jonas had stood by, paralysed.

He didn't think anyone's life was in danger this time, but the situation was no less frustrating, in its own way. He'd come down here, of a mind to speak to General Hammond, to find out if he could shed a little more light on the situation, but the General had only arrived back from Washington a little while ago. He was currently cloistered away with Colonel O'Neill, getting caught up on the state of affairs at the SGC since his departure, and Jonas was pretty sure his own problems weren't going to rank very high on the General's priority scale. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if the General was even the person he needed to talk to. He began pacing faster and rubbed the back of his neck furiously. He didn't know _what _to do.

"Jonas?" Startled, he looked up. Sam was coming out of the door to the briefing room, closing it behind her, a couple of folders in her hand. She looked confused and concerned. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, not exactly sure what he was going to say, when the elevators opened behind him, and a glowering Senator Kinsey exited, his airman escort on his heels. His eyes rested contemptuously on Jonas for the briefest of moments, and he ploughed on down the hall, dismissing Jonas as though he didn't exist.

"Senator!" Jonas called desperately, and started off after him, quickening his pace to catch up until he could match that of the other man. By the time he caught up, they were already storming through the briefing room towards General Hammond's office. He could sense that Sam was following as well. "Senator, if you'll just –"

His words were cut off as the other man suddenly whirled around, confronting Jonas with a murderous expression. "Amelia is packing her bags," he snarled. "I've talked some sense into her. She'll be accompanying me home, and I don't even want –"

General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill must have noticed the commotion, because just then the door to the office opened, and both men came hastily out. Senator Kinsey stopped mid-rant to face them.

"Kinsey, what _are _you doing?" the Colonel asked without hesitation.

"Colonel," spat Kinsey viciously. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with my daughter fraternizing with one of your _team _in a most… _disgraceful _fashion?" He turned and glared at Jonas. Sam was looking between all four men uncertainly, and she turned a questioning gaze on Colonel O'Neill.

The Colonel looked thoughtful. "Fraternizing?" he repeated. "Fraternizing," he mumbled again, lowly, casting his eyes about, his face a picture of mock concentration. "Oh, _that_," he said a moment later. "Kinsey, if your daughter has better taste in friends than you do, it's not my fault." He turned to General Hammond. "General, I assume you knew of our distinguished _guest's_ presence?"

Hammond nodded. "Yes, Jack. I didn't get a chance to tell you."

"As for what I'm doing," Kinsey injected, obviously trying to maintain control of the conversation, "I've come to take my daughter home where she belongs. Away from the whole damned lot of you."

Jack looked at General Hammond and shook his head. "And this is the thanks we get," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. He turned and glared at Kinsey, now without the slightest trace of sarcasm. "Kinsey, Jonas practically saved your daughter's life single-handedly when the Tok'ra almost forgot about her," he said. "Not to mention worked his butt off to find who tried to kill you. I think you're being a little uncharitable."

Jonas, who had been desperately trying to find a place to join the conversation, stopped long enough to pause in amazement. First off, he'd had no idea the Colonel had known so many details of Amelia's sickness, especially considering he'd been trapped on the alien moon with Colonel Maybourne at the time. More than that, though, it wasn't very often the Colonel so directly and blatantly praised him, and it set him a bit off guard, though he couldn't say he was displeased. "Senator," he managed to say calmly when he'd found his voice again, "I have a very high respect for Amelia –"

"If you really respected her, you would keep your hands off of her," Kinsey retorted. "And from what I saw, I don't think you have that sort of self control."

Now Jonas was starting to get really angry, and that didn't happen very often. "Maybe you should just be happy for her, and let her do what she wants with her life," he said, his voice rising slightly.

"Don't you tell me how to deal with my own daughter, Mr. Quinn," Kinsey said darkly. He was several inches taller than Jonas, and seemed to tower now. "You stay away from her. You'll have nothing else to do with her. In fact, you're not even going to speak to her before she leaves this facility, you understand?"

"Gentleman," General Hammond finally input. He was probably the calmest person in the room, Jonas reflected. "This is hardly the time or place for a discussion of this nature. Senator, if you'll please join me in my office; I have some things I wish to discuss with you." Despite his composed tone, Jonas could see that the General was obviously as annoyed as anyone else by the Senator's presence. He turned smartly on his heel, heading back the way he'd come. Kinsey spared one more glare for SG-1's benefit before following.

"I've got to find Amelia," Jonas said immediately, and turned to rush out the door.

Colonel O'Neill darted out a restraining arm to his shoulder. "Whoa, there, Sparky," he said. "Let's not be rash. The good Senator is watching you like a hawk." He clapped Jonas twice on the shoulder and began walking at a much more reasonable pace towards the hallway. "If I know him, he set one of his loonies to watch Amelia anyway. The man may be a pain in the proverbial ass, but unfortunately, he's not stupid."

"Well then what am I supposed to do?" Jonas asked, a bit more angrily than he intended.

"Carter and me'll handle this. Just go to your office and wait there."

"But –"

"No buts, Jonas," Colonel O'Neill said wearily, rolling his eyes. "Just go."

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Jack's voice was resigned as he and Sam walked down the hall towards Amelia's quarters.

Sam smiled. "What? Thwarting Kinsey or helping Jonas with his social life?" she asked, grin widening.

"Mmmn. The benefits of the former far outweigh the _tediousness _of the other," Jack said.

"Actually; sir, I think you handled yourself pretty well, considering how much you were dreading this exact scenario," she said.

"Fortitude in the face of adversity, Carter. Dealing with Kinsey is like… conditioning. Why do you think I have such a flair with the Goa'uld?"

"Right," she agreed, laughing again. They were approaching Amelia's door now, and the Colonel slowed down. As he'd surmised, there was a stone-faced man in a suit sitting in a chair beside the door, looking bored. There was a briefcase by his feet.

"Mr….Lambert?" Jack asked, hands in pockets, as they sidled up to the door. He and Sam had accessed the visitor log to find out the man's name.

"Yes?" the man asked in a voice that matched his face.

Jack pulled one hand out of his pocket and pointed with a thumb over his shoulder. "I hate to be a pain, but General Hammond needs you to sign some papers before you leave. New security procedure."

"Senator Kinsey told me to stay here."

"Hey, no offence, pal, but my boss versus your boss… well, this _is _the General's command." Jack shrugged. "I'm supposed to take you myself. Major Carter can take over till you get back."

The man looked even more suspicious. "Major Carter-?" he began, looking at Sam.

"Listen, I don't have all day, okay?" Jack continued. "Can we get going already?"

Sam watched him lead the flabbergasted 'crony' away, and made sure they were safely in the elevator before knocking quietly on Amelia's door.

It wasn't long in opening. A numb-looking Amelia answered, a suitcase at her feet and her violin case in one hand. When she saw Sam, her red-rimmed eyes widened and came to life. "Major?" she asked amazedly. "What -?"

"Listen," Sam cut her off, "We don't have much time. Jonas is in his office. Colonel O'Neill's going to try and buy you about fifteen minutes, but you have to leave _now _if you want to make it back in time. I'll wait here for you." Amelia only stared back, eyes still wide for a moment. "Well, hurry!" Sam added, emphatically.

Coming to herself, Amelia nodded hastily and rushed off. Sam watched her go, violin still in hand, and then took Mr. Lambert's place at the abandoned chair. She hoped Amelia made it back in time. The story about the new security policy had been her idea. Actually, it wasn't even really a story, except that the proper paperwork was usually filled out et the door before a visitor departed. Poor Mr. Lambert was going to have to fill it out twice, but that was the nice thing about a governmental organizations, at least in this particular case. Overkill was never suspicious.

* * *

Amelia was quite certain no elevator in history had ever moved so slowly as the one that carried her up the seven levels between her and Jonas. She was grateful she had it all to herself – a rarity around the SGC – so that no one could witness her sorrow and apprehension. When it finally stopped, she was out the doors before they'd even fully opened, nearly knocking over an unsuspecting sergeant in her haste. "Sorry!" she called over her shoulder.

She raced through the familiar corridors to Jonas's office. The light was on in the room as she approached and her steps slowed. Her heart began beating faster.

When she stepped through the doorway his eyes were already on her, obviously having heard her approach. "Amelia," he said urgently, getting up from his stool and heading towards her. "I'm so sorry," he continued. "If I'd had any idea that –" He must have finally perceived the sadness in her eyes, for he stopped short mid-sentence. "What's wrong?"

Amelia couldn't think of a single thing to say. She could only stare at him, her heart hurting more and more with every breath. He was so sweet and beautiful, her Jonas. Enlivening, encouraging, endearing…he had been through so much and still he held on to optimism and hope, and now she was going to have to break his heart. How could the universe be so cruel?

A ragged sob escaped her throat. "I can't-" she began. "I can't – Jonas –"

All semblance of coherency fled out the door as Jonas stepped forward and wordlessly enveloped her with his arms. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed as she wept into his shoulder. She clung to him tightly, desperately, trying to memorize every scent, every sensation, so that she would always remember what it felt like for him to hold her.

She could not allow herself to forget the need for haste. As soon as she was sufficiently calmed, she pulled away from him and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. She sniffed loudly. "I'm so sorry, Jonas," she said softly.

"For what?" he asked with gentle confusion.

She took a deep, shaky breath, determined not to waste time with further tears. "I – I can't see you anymore."

"I know," he said, as if surprised this was all. "We already talked about it, remember? We're going to try and write letters, right?"

She smiled at him sadly and shook her head. "No, Jonas. That's what I'm trying to tell you. No letters, no phone calls, nothing. I can't explain. Please," she added hastily, cutting short his protest, "please don't ask me to explain. My father," she took a deep breath and plunged on, "he is a very dangerous man, Jonas, and there's more at stake than just you and me."

The pain and understanding in his eyes made her want to scream. Why, _why_, did he have to be like this? Why couldn't he yell and scream and get angry with her and argue and try and make her change her mind? "So this is goodbye," he finally said.

She nodded, unable to prevent two silent tears from escaping her vigilance. "I'm so sorry," she said again, whispering.

Her violin was resting in its case beside the door, where she'd place it upon first entering the room. She retrieved it, grateful for the excuse it gave her to escape Jonas's sorrow, at least for a moment. Then she turned back to him and held it out. "I want you to have this," she said.

His surprise was unmistakable. "But –" he began, half heartedly.

"Every violin has its own voice," she went on, rambling, "—its own personality. They're like people that way. And all musicians look for that one special instrument, you know? That perfect fit. I found mine in this little consignment shop in Brussels when I was sixteen. We were on vacation – I wasn't really looking for a violin, just browsing. I picked it up and I fell in love." She gave a shaky laugh as she remembered. "The shopkeeper – he was so excited after I played it. I have no idea what he was saying. He was talking so fast, and my French isn't _that _good, but he gave me a really good price."

"Amelia, why are you telling me this?" Jonas asked desperately. "You can't give me this – it means too much to you."

He made to hand it back but she stubbornly pushed his hands away again. "No," she said firmly. Her voice softened. "Jonas, don't you see? That's why I want you to have it." Her voice was desperate. "I can't stay, but…it'd be like a part of me _could _stay behind. With you."

He still did not seem satisfied. "But what will you play?" he asked.

She smiled. "I have a spare. I'll make do. Please, Jonas?"

He finally nodded slowly. "All right." He turned, and very deliberately set it on the table behind him, where so many times they'd had lessons – where he'd kissed her for the first time.

"I have to go," she said softly when he turned back around again.

"Yeah," he said.

She reached up to embrace him goodbye. His arms tightened around her, strongly, with no hesitation. "I'll miss you so much," she whispered fiercely. "Thank you for everything."

She did not add the words that rested at the surface of her thoughts. To utter them would probably only hurt him more.

_I love you._

Their last kiss was deep and unrestrained, full of yearning. Amelia felt like crying again when she finally forced herself to pull away. She took three steps back from him and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling cold. "Goodbye, Jonas."

"Goodbye," came his reply.

She forced herself to tear her eyes away from his. It would not do to get Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter in trouble after what they'd done for her. The thought of it was her only strength, the only reason she was able to turn around. She fled back the way she'd come, back to her room, back to her father, back to a life she'd left behind. Never again would it hold the joy it once had.

* * *

For the first few silent, hollow hours after Amelia was gone, Jonas did not touch the violin case. He really didn't even want to look at it. He numbly set about getting caught up on some long-neglected work, trying to shut off all parts of his brain that had anything to do with emotion. It had been a long time since he'd felt so lonely.

He knew he couldn't hide forever, though, and sure enough, just as he was thinking of packing up for the night, he heard his team-mates' approach. He reached up to turn off his lamp just as the three of them came into the lab. Sam spoke first. "Hey," she said, a little hesitantly.

Jonas did his best to give a wave of greeting in return, but the result was less than inspiring. "Hey," he said back. After a moment's awkward silence, he added, "Thanks, guys, for what you did for me. It meant a lot. Did Amelia get into any trouble?"

"Not that we could tell," Sam said, looking briefly at Colonel O'Neill for confirmation. "Kinsey will probably suspect something when that Lambert character tells him Colonel O'Neill got involved, but…I don't think he'll make too a big fuss over it. Anyway, he got what he really wanted."

"Yeah," said Jonas, flicking a pencil on his desk with his forefinger. "Thanks for reminding me."

Sam winced. "Sorry."

"I just don't get it," he went on. "What could he have said to make her so afraid?"

"What?" asked Colonel O'Neill.

"Amelia," Jonas clarified. "I don't think she would have left like that just because Kinsey snapped his fingers. She was frightened about something. "He sighed in frustration. "She wouldn't say what."

"Kinsey's a weasel," Jack said. "Nothing he does shocks me anymore. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd threatened her somehow. You're right. It wasn't like her. At least," he confessed, "what little I know of her. Spunky kid," he added thoughtfully.

"Is this not Amelia Kinsey's musical instrument, Jonas Quinn?" asked Teal'c, who had been eyeing the violin case speculatively.

"Yeah. She gave it to me."

"Wow," said Sam, sounding impressed. "Did she say why?"

"Yup," said Jonas, still playing with the pencil. He did not look up.

"Well?" Sam prompted.

After a moment's silence, the Colonel said. "Ah, Carter, I get the feeling it's personal."

"Right. Sorry, Jonas."

"It's okay."

"Hey, get some rest tonight, huh?" the Colonel said brightly. "We've got a mission tomorrow. Carter wants to point a telescope at yet another slowly exploding sun, so don't forget your fun gear!" He pumped the air with his fist and gave an encouraging grin.

Jonas couldn't help but crack a small smile. "Right. I look forward to it."

The Colonel made a meaningful face at the other two and jerked his head towards the door, taking the lead in their exit. Sam and Teal'c bid Jonas goodnight, which he returned politely, uncharacteristically subdued.

When their footsteps had once again faded down the hallway, he finally got up from his chair. Exhaling loudly, he turned to the violin case and stared at it thoughtfully for a moment before snapping it open.

It looked as it always did. Warm brown wood, polished and smoothed behind a light glaze of varnish, clean and beautiful and very much loved. He reached out and plucked the strings lightly. They were perfectly in tune, and their bright sound seemed to have some kind of bolstering effect upon his spirit. Amelia had been right. It would never be the same, of course, but it really did feel like a small part of her was still here in the form of this instrument.

Gently, he lifted the violin from its bed of plush velvet and looked around. He wasn't sure he'd ever have the heart to play it – at least not for a very long while, but now that he'd had the courage to open it, he was reluctant to put it away again. He needed it near. He needed to be able to see it.

A moment later, he stepped over to the filling cabinet by the door and settled the instrument carefully on the back end of it, against the wall. As soon as he got a chance he'd make a proper stand of some kind for it, but it would probably be safe enough there for now. He stepped back, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Yes, it looked very at home here, Amelia's violin.

There were some things that people like Kinsey would never understand, Jonas decided. Friendship and love couldn't be killed or broken by threats and demands. They would always share a connection, Jonas and Amelia, even if they never saw one another again. But Jonas Quinn was, and always would be, a man of hope. The future was never certain. Maybe someday they would find a way.

He smiled.

* * *

_I close my eyes, and there in the shadows I see your light.  
__You come to me out of my dreams across the night.  
__You take my hand, though you may be so many stars away.  
__I know that our spirits and souls are one.  
__We've circled the moon and we've touched the sun.  
__So here we'll stay._

_For always, forever,  
__Beyond here and on to eternity.  
__For always, forever,  
__For us there's no time and no space,  
__No barrier love won't erase.  
__Wherever you go, I still know  
__In my heart you will be with me._

_From this day on I'm certain I'll never be alone  
__I know what my heart must have always known  
__That love has a power that's all its own  
__  
__For always, forever,  
__Beyond here and on to eternity  
__For always, and ever,  
__You'll be apart of me._

_For always, forever  
__A thousand tomorrows may cross the sky.  
__And for always and ever,  
__We will go on beyond goodbye._

"For Always"  
From the motion picture soundtrack "A.I. – Artificial Intelligence"  
Music and lyrics by John Williams  
Performed by Josh Groban

* * *

**THE END

* * *

**

**A/N: **Well, there you have it folks, and just in time for the nominations! I hope you enjoyed the changes (or for those of you reading for the first time, the whole story). I'm going to try and get another three or four chapters of the sequel under my belt before I begin posting, but I don't think it will be too long. Anyway, it still needs a title. LOL

In the meantime, I'm offering up a treat— a deleted scene. This is one that **Domi Lys **fought and fought to have included in the rewrite, but try as I might, I could never find any justification for it. _Metamorphosis_ as an episode had little bearing on my story, so in the end I realized trying to force it in was a distraction. Yet this moment remains a favourite, so here you go. Enjoy!

* * *

Out of the goodness of her heart, Doctor Fraiser allowed Jonas and Sam to have beds next to each other. "Doctor, I really think I'm fine," Jonas said, trying to be extra persuasive as the small woman took his blood pressure, for all the good it would do. Which wasn't much. He was already wearing hospital clothes and had been tucked smartly into bed, as was Sam across from him.

"Hey, no arguing with the Doc," said Colonel O'Neill from the door. Their CO had come to check up on them after debriefing and cleaning up. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, on his way out the door. His hair was still wet from a shower. "Trust me, you get alien stuff messing with your head, it's better to be safe than sorry."

From the other bed, Jonas heard Sam snort softly. "Oh, like you're one to talk," she muttered lightly, and Jonas smiled.

"Whatever do you mean, Carter?"

"Nothing, sir."

"The Colonel is right, Jonas," said Doctor Fraiser briskly, writing her results on Jonas's chart and putting back in the slot beside his bed. "It's only prudent to keep you both under surveillance for at least twenty-four hours."

"Eggar seemed pretty confident he'd returned us to normal, Janet," Sam said, making her own plea.

"Sam," said Janet patroziningly, raising her eyebrows at the Major like a mother hen.

Sam gave a small, resigned sigh. "Okay, fine," she said. "Can somebody please send up my notes from PX3-651, then? If I'm going to be stuck here I might as well be doing something useful."

"Doctor, if you allow her to partake in _any _kind of work during the course of the next day, I will personally come and steal your pen light. And come to think of it, that goes for Jonas, too."

"Colonel," protested Sam.

"Ah!" he interjected, holding up a warning finger. "I said no."

"Well, you're right at least about the need to rest, Colonel," Janet said. "I'd advise you to get some yourself. Go home and go to bed. Don't make me order you."

"Right-o, doc," he said, grinning. He threw a smirk at Sam and turned around to leave.

"Oh, and Colonel," Janet called to his retreating back.

"Yeeeees?" he said slowly, turning back around.

She gave a small smirk of her own. "You will _never _find where I keep my pen lights."

"Damn."

Sam and Jonas shared regretful expressions upon watching the Colonel leave. The levity he provided would have been welcome, had he been allowed to stay longer. When Doctor Fraiser wandered away to check on her other patients, Sam gave a long, frustrated sigh and rested her head back against the wall behind her. "Man, I hate this. I feel fine," she complained.

"So do I," Jonas said. After another moment, he said, "So do you think we'll have a chance to work on those crystal devices again anytime soon?"

"I don't know. I hope so. Hey, Jonas?"

"Yeah?"

Sam turned to face him more fully. "When we were back at Nirrti's fortress, after they'd cured me, they put you in the machine, too."

Jonas frowned a little, not sure what Sam was getting at. She was stating obvious facts. "Yes, you were there," he said confusedly.

She nodded briefly, but then shook her head, indicating that this was not her point. "Eggar said you were fine. That Nirrti hadn't done to you what she'd done to me," she pointed out.

"Oh." Jonas shrugged. "Don't ask me. I was in the machine for a long time."

"Well, she must have said something to you. Indicated some reason why your, …_treatment, _for lack of a better word, was different. I mean, you were gone longer than any of us."

Jonas was silent for a moment, slightly embarrassed. He was hoping to avoid telling any of his teammates about Nirrti's proposition. In light of the medical considerations, General Hammond had agreed to put off the official debriefing for a couple of days. The debriefing they'd already given him had been the bare minimum. "Well –" he began, but stopped, not quite sure what he could say, really.

"What?" she asked.

Jonas couldn't help it. He flushed.

Even though he wasn't looking at her, he could sense Sam's surprise. "What?" she asked again, her voice heavy with curiosity and suspicion.

"It's… quite an interesting story, actually," he said, trying to be casual, but his voice betrayed his embarrassment.

Suddenly, Sam began laughing, full-blown realization dawning on her face. "She made a pass at you, didn't she?" she said knowingly, her voice heavy with tease.

Jonas did not reply, but met Sam's eyes and pursed his lips. "Apparently, I have really attractive DNA," he said defensively. Sam began snickering. "It was creepy!" he insisted. Sam only laughed harder. "Fine," he said in a mock sulk, turning away from her. "You get a wacky Goa'uld hanging off you and see how _you _like it."

"So just how were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"I was going to tell you the... basic truth," he said, nodding with now-useless resolve.

"Which is?"

Jonas frowned a little. "I don't know, Sam," he said, suddenly all seriousness. "There _was _something about my genetics that stood out to her. She said I was different from the rest of you."

"And you're thinking this explains your good memory, your observation skills, things like that?"

"Maybe."

The conversation was forestalled by the sound of approaching footsteps and voices. They both looked towards the door, and Jonas smiled. "Amelia," he greeted. "Teal'c."

Amelia returned his smile with a gleeful expression of her own. "Teal'c came and told me you were back," she said, glancing at the Jaffa gratefully. She looked back at Jonas, then at Sam. "I was glad to find out you were safe."

"Thanks. It was pretty touch and go there, for a while, but…" Amelia's eyes widened, and Jonas was quick to add, "… but nothing we're not used to. Have a seat," he said then, nodding at the stool beside his bed.

"Has O'Neill retired for the day?" asked Teal'c, coming to stand at the foot of Sam's bed as Amelia carefully perched on the proffered stool.

"Yes," said Sam. "And gloating about it the whole way."

"Gloating?" asked Amelia, mystified.

"We're bored," Jonas told her matter-of-factly.

"Oh!" said Amelia, rising suddenly to her feet. "Do you want me to go get you a book?" she asked. She glanced at Sam. "And you too, Major? I have several."

Sam shook her head politely. "No, thanks, Amelia. Doctor Fraiser will make us go to sleep as soon as she leaves, anyway."

"Jonas?" Amelia asked.

Jonas shook his head, too. "No, just sit here for a bit," he said with a smile.

"So how come you guys have to stay here for the night?"

Sam and Jonas exchanged looks. "Well, we can't tell you that," Sam began. "It's –"

Amelia closed her eyes and gave a resigned smile. " – classified," she finished. "Right. I keep forgetting. But you're okay, right?" she added, opening her eyes again and glancing between them with concern.

"We'll be fine," Sam assured her.

"Amelia Kinsey, how do you proceed with the music of the Ancients?" Teal'c asked, politely.

"Pretty good, I think." Amelia gave an uncertain shrug. "All I have to do is play it. That's not difficult. Just don't ask me to know what it means." She poked Jonas lightly in the shoulder with a finger. "That's Jonas's job," she said, grinning a little.

"Hey," he protested blandly, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Okay, visiting hours are over," said Janet, suddenly sweeping back from wherever she'd been.

Jonas opened his eyes again. "They've hardly even begun," he protested.

"Teal'c, Amelia, you can come back first thing in the morning, I promise. But these two have been through a rough mission. They need rest. Teal'c, you should probably use some kelnorim, too. I know you haven't had enough time to do it since you got back."

"Very well," Teal'c agreed congenially, and made for the door.

Amelia stood up again. "Goodnight, Jonas. Goodnight Major Carter."

"Goodnight, Amelia," Sam said.

"Hey, I'm counting on that visit tomorrow," Jonas added, smiling.

Amelia gave him another smile of her own, and a nod, then turned to follow Teal'c out the door. "Goodnight, Janet," she said as she passed the doctor.

"Goodnight, Amelia."

Just before they passed out of earshot, Jonas heard her say to Teal'c, "Like I said – worth a try, right?"

"Indeed," he replied.

After they were gone – so soon after they'd arrived – Sam was quick to smile at Jonas. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

"Now who's being observant?"

"I've certainly never found ping pong that enjoyable."

Jonas closed his eyes with a small groan. He should have known he couldn't avoid this forever.

"And Amelia's a lot less creepy than Nirrti," Sam continued, knowingly.

"Shut up." Jonas said, not opening his eyes.

"Speaking of Nirrti," Sam continued, "just wait until I tell the Colonel." Her amusement was unmistakable.

"Hah," said Jonas, opening his eyes and looking at her victoriously. "The Colonel will be properly sympathetic."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Jonas! Major! Sleep!"

Sam sighed and turned wriggled down from her sitting position, rolling her eyes at Jonas as Janet began turning off the lights around them, preparing to go home. "Napoleonic power-mongerer," she muttered when the doctor was out of earshot.

Jonas laughed, and settled down to sleep himself, thankful for another good day's work and a safe return home.

* * *

Feedback always loved and adored!

Saché


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